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BURT,  THE  HERO; 

OIR, 

.^cL^7-e:cLlj-ix:r?es    o±   a   IPX-cloHs:^   Boy. 

By    JAMES    FRANKLIN    FITTS, 
^Hthor  of  ''Handsome  Harry,"  "The  Silent  Hunter,'"1  "On  a  Trarmp,"  Etc.,  Eta, 


BURT  REACHED  OUT  ANE    GRABBEL    THE    THIE1"    BY    TH*,    HAIR.    "STAND    BACK!"    HB 
CRIED,  "THIS  MAN  TRIEE  TC  STEAL  MY  WATCH,  AND  1  AM  GOING  TO  JAIL  HIM." 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


BURT,  THE  HERO ; 

— OR,— 

Adventures  of  a  Plucky  Boy. 

BY  JAMES  FRANKLIN  FITTS. 


CHAPTER  L 

BURT   AND    THE    CRIPPLED    SOLDIER. 

When  the  great  War  of  the  Rebellion 
broke  out  in  the  spring  of  1S61,  Bart 
■  Carrier  was  just  fifteen  years  old.  He 
•was  the  oldest  son  and  child  of  a  large 
family,  living  far  up  on  the  Penobscot 
River,  in  the  State  of  Maine. 

The  place  where  the  family  lived  was 
hardlv  a  village;  it  was  rather  a  hamlet, 
or  a  small  collection  of  houses,  which 
were  leased  by  the  men  who  owned  the 
lumbering  interests  in  that  region  to  the 
foremen  who  conducted  the  business  of 
cntting  down  pine  trees  in  the  great 
Maine  forests,  far  above  this  hamlet,  and 
rafting  them  down  to  Bangor. 

Burt's  father  was  one  of  these  foremen. 
He  had  labored  hard  for  many  years  to 
support  his  'large  and  growing  family; 
but  his  gains  were  not  large,  and  ha  had 
found  it  necessary,  as  Burt  grew  into  a 
stout  and  robust  boy,  to  take  him  from 
school,  and  press  him  into  the  lumbering 
business.  Mr.  Carrier  did  this  very  re- 
luctantly, as  his  talk  with  his  son 
showed. 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  leave  school,  Burt," 
he  said.  "  You  are  almost  fitted  (or  the 
A  cad  em  v.!' 

"Yes/ father,"  replied  the  stout  boy, 
"I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  too.  But  ir 
seems  necessary.  I  would  like  to  go  on 
and  graduate  at  the  academy,  ancLat  col- 
lege, "too,  and  then  study  for  a  lawyer  or 
doctor.  But  I  know  how  it  is.  The  fam- 
ily is  large,  times  are  hard,  and  I  ought  to 
do  what  I  can  to  help  support  us  all. 
Yes,  #11  dc  it,  father.  Don't  fee!  bad 
about'it.  Maybe  there'll  be  a  chance  yet 
for  me  to  finish  my  education." 

We  may  remark  that  this  good  boy  had 
a  pretty  thorough  education  nut  long 
after,  as  this  true  record  will  show; 
though  not  precisely  of  the  kind  that  he 
and  his  father  was  thinking  about. 

For  some  months  in  the  fall  and  winter 
of  lSuO-61,  Burt  worked  with  the  wood- 
choppers,  lived  with  them  in  their  camp, 
fared  as  they  did,  and  made  himself  a 
favorite  with  all  by  his  pleasant  ways 
and  the  hearty  manner  in  which  he  took 
hold  of  the  work. 

Although  only  fifteen  at  this  time,  he 
was  nearly  a  man  in  stature  and  develop- 
ment.    He    was    tall,    broad-shouldered, 


and  strong  of  limb:  he  had  a  bright  blue 
eye,  a  head  of  curly  brown  hair,  a  ringing 
voice,  and  a  way  with  him  that  would 
naturally  make  him  a.  favorite  anywhere. 

When  the  news  came  of  the  firing  on 
Fort. Sumter,  there  was  agreatstir  among 
the  lumbermen. 

The  first  newspapers  that  told  of  the 
event  were  eagerly  read  in  the  camp; 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  the 
duty  of  the  men  in  this  crisis;  but  when 
it  was  known  that  President  Lincoln  had 
called  for  volunteers,  the  enthusiasm  of 
these  hardy  sons  of  the  forest  broke  all 
bounds. 

A  meeting  was  called,  and  almost  a 
full  hundred  enrolled  their  names  as  vol- 
unteers to  fight  for  their  country.  They 
were  formed  into  a  company,  and  went 
to  Bangor,  where  they  were  soon  taken 
into  a  regiment,  a.-d  sent  with  it  to  the 
South. 

Burt  Carrier  was  full  of  the  war-spirit. 
He  had  read  a  great  deal  of  the  history 
of  the  country,  and  he  felt  now  that  his 
place  was  with  the  volunteers.  He  never 
thought,  then,  of  his  parents,  his  brothers 
or  his  sisters;  his  eager  desire  was  to  en- 
list, and  fight  for  the  flag  and  the  coun- 
try. 

His  father  noticed  that  he  was  restless 
and  uneasy,  and  one  day  asked  him  what 
the  trouble  was. 

"1  want  to  go  to  the  war,"  the  boy  re- 
plied, 

Mr.  Carrier  laughed. 

"  They  don't  take  boys  into  the  army,1' 
he  said." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  called  a  boy, 
father,"  was  Burt's  warm  reply.  "I  am 
as  strong  as  half  the  lumbermen  who 
have  enlisted,  and   I   am  just  as  able  to 

"1  guess  that's  so,"  said  the  father, 
looking  with  pride  upon  the  stout  frame 
and  art  lei  1  his  son.     "But  they 

hav  regulations  that  you  can't  break 
over.     A  soldier  must  be  eighteen." 

"And  in  my  case  that  time  will  be 
three  years  olf,"  was  Burt's  rather  rueful 
comment.  "I  don't  believe  there  is  any 
hope  for  me.  The  war  will  be  ended  long 
before  then." 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Carrier. 
"But  don't  fear  that  you  won't  have 
chance  enough  to  distinguish  yourself  in 
some  way  or  another  before  you  die.  Life 
is  long,  and  the  world  is  wide;  the  thing 
to  do  is  to  grapple  with  the  duty  that 
is  next  you,  and  meet  things  as  they 
come." 

Mr.  Carrier  himself  was  past  forty-five 
at  this  time,  and  therefore  was  beyond 
the  age  for  enlisting.  While  satisfied  be- 
cause Burt  was  not  old  enough  to  be  a 
soldier,  he  was  well  pleased  with  the  lad's 

m 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


piuck  and  spirit,  and  Hpon  the  same 
night  that  he  bad  talked  with  Burt,  he 
te!'l  the  conversation  to  Ids  wife. 

'The  smaller  children  were  abed  and 
asleep,  bur.  it  happened  that  Burt  himself 
was  Bitting  just  outside  the  door,  and 
heard  all. that  was  said. 

"Oh,  deai!'1  said  •  Mrs.  Carrier.  "I 
wonder  J  Avhat  will  happen  next.  This 
dreadful  war!'' 

"Yes,  it  is  sad  to  think  of;  but  it  has  to 
go  on.  There  can  be  peace  and  union 
now  onlv  after  a  great  deal  of  blood- 
shed/' 

"And  to  think  of  my  sister  Ellen  away 
down  in  Georgia!  1  have  not  heard  from 
her  since  January,  and  heaven  knows 
when  1  shall  again.  Her  oldest  boy, 
Jack,  is  older  than  Burt,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  at  all  if  he  went  into  the  South- 
ern army."' 

"Very  likely,  Hannah.  You  remember 
that  when  your  sister  and  her  husband, 
Mr.  Ellison,  were  up  here  last  year,  he 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  Southern 
rights,  and  he  predicted  the  war.  I 
laughed  at  him,  you  know,  for  thinking 
such  a  tl>in g  possible;  but  he  was  right, 
ems.  And  he  ami  all  his  family  will 
side  with  the  Confederacy,  of  course.-' 

"Well,  I'm  heartily  glad  that  our  boy 
isn't  old  enough  to  go.  It  would  be  hard 
holding  him  back,  if  he  was.'' 

"  Yes,  he  is  full  of  the  war-spirit,  and  is 
:•  for  the  adventures  and  hardships  of 
the  thing.  And  while  I  am  not  sorry 
that  he  is  not  old  enough  to  go,  we  must 
remember  that  the  Government  must 
have  soldiers,  and  many  of. them,  too.  If 
he  were  old  enough  now,  and  felt  about 
it  just  as  he  does,  I  should  not  say  a 
word  against  his  volunteering." 

"Oh.  John!  It  seems  so  dreadful  to 
send  our  boy  away  to. fight.  And  bis 
own  blood  relations  on  the  other  elder, 
too!  What  if  these  very  cousins  should 
happen  to  meet  in  battle  as  enemies?'' 

"  That  is  always  one  of  the  miseries  of 
civil  war,  Hannah.  Jusjfc  that  thing,  or 
even  worse,  will  happen  thousands  of 
times  before  this  great  struggle  is  over." 

Good  Mrs.  Carrier  could  not  know  how 
prophetic  her  words  were.  But  we  must 
not  anticipate. 

Burt  thought  a  great  deal  upon  this 
conversation  which  he  had  overheard,  but 
Baiil  no  more  to  his  lather  on  the  subject. 

He  continued  to  work  hard  with  the 
lumbermen,  but  read  the  accounts  of 
battles  and  the  movements  of  the  armies 
with  the  utmost  eagerness;  and  he  heard 
a  great  deal  said  by  those  about  him. 

From  time  to  time,  some  of  the  men 
at  the  camp  would  enlist  and  go  to  the 
front,  and  during  those  years  our  young 
hero-to-be  had  an  opportunity   to  read 


many  of  the  letters  sent  home  from  camp 
and  field  by  the  volunteers  from  this  re- 
gion. 

If  the  space  could  be  given  me  I  would 
very  much  like  to  print  some  of  those 
letters  here,  so  that  my  young  readers 
might  see  what  the  things  were  that 
stirred  Hurt  Carrier's  very  soul  in  those 
days.  They  were  simple  accounts,  some 
of  them  expressed  in  a  rude  sort  of  way, 
and  often  written  in  pencil;  but  they  told 
of  the  things  that  the  boy  most  wished  to 
see  and  hear  for  himself.  They  were 
stories  of  long  marches  in  Virginia  and 
Louisiana,  of  nights  passed  on  the  bare 
ground,  with  no  shelter  but  that  of  a 
rubber  blanket,  and  of  skirmishes,  of 
battles,  and  of  dangerous  and  exciting 
picket-duty  between  the  lin 

News  came,  too,  quite  often,  of  the 
death  of  some  of  these  volunteers;  many 
families  in  the  lumber-district  were  sadly 
bereaved,  and  some  of  the  soldiers  came 
home,  crippled  with  wounds  which  had 
caused  their  discharge. 

But  none  of  these  things  dampened 
Burt  Carrier's  war-spirit  in  the  least. 

His  mother  had  hoped  that  he  would 
learn  from  them  what  a  very  serious  and 
dreadful  thing  war  is,  and  would  be  sat- 
isfied to  see  it  several  hundreds  of  miles 
off.     It  was  not  to  be  so. 

There  was  one  young  man  among  the 
lumbermen  named  Jerry  Wall,  between 
whom  and  Burt  there  had  been  quhe  a 
friendship  before  Jerry  enlisted.  He  Lad 
sometimes  written  to  Burt  from  the  front, 
and  his  descriptions  of  army-life  were  so 
natural  and  interesting,  that  the  boy 
almost  fancied  he  could  see  the  things 
himself  that  Jerry  wrote  about. 

At  the  great  battle  of  Autietam  the 
latter  lost  an  arm,  and  the  next  winter  he 
was  home?  agafh,  with  his  discharge.  As 
may  be  supposed,  all  of  Burt's  spare  time 
after  that  spent  with  his  crippled 
friend,  and  many  were  the  stories  that 
he  heard  from  his  lips. 

"Now,  Jerry,"' said  the  boy,  one  day, 
"I  want  to  ask  you  one  question.  Are 
you  sorry  you  enlisted?" 

"  Am  l  sorry?    Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"But  you  have  lost  an  arm.  You  will 
never  chop  nor  raft  any  more." 

"Very  true,  my  lad."  The  young  vet- 
eran looked  sorrowfully  at  his  empty 
sleeve.  "It  was  agood  arm,  and  it  served 
me  well;  but  I'll  have  to  do  without  it. 
No  matter;  the  Government  will  give  me 
a  pension,  and  I'll  find  something  to  do 
with  one  hand.  And  harkee,  Burt— when 
it  comes  to  talking  about  being  sorry  for 
what  I  have  lost,  you  must  remember 
what  I  have  gained." 

"Why,  you  can't  have  gained  much, 
Jerry.     Thirteen  dollars  a  month    isn't 


1   ,1  9 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


very  large,  and  you  were  discharged  in 
less  than  two  years  after  you  went 
out." 

V  Ah,  my  lad,  there  are  other  ways  for 
us  to  gain  beside  in  mere  money.  Now, 
you  may  think  it  strange,  but  I  tell  you 
that  I  wouldn't  part  with  the  experience 
I  have  gained;  I  wouldn't  blot  out  from 
my  memory  all  the  things  I  have  seen 
and  suffered,  even  if  my  good  arm  could 
be  given  back  to  me  for  it  all.  Oh,  there's 
something  grand  in  war,  after  all;  in 
being  in  it,  and  part  of  it!  Sometimes  I 
can't  make  it  seem  real  at  all,  and  it  ap- 
pears as  if  I  had  dreamed  it.  To  think  of 
Gaines'  Mill,  and  how  we  held  back  the 
Confederate  charge  for  hours  before  we 
had  to  give  ground!  To  think  of  Antie- 
tam,  and  the  perfect  tempest  of  battle 
that  raged  in  those  cornfields  and  about 
the  little  church,  where  men  in  blue  and 
gray  lay  so  thick  that  you  could  step 
from  one  dead  man*  to  another,  without 
touching  the  ground !  And  the  great  guns 
that  thundered  all  day  from  the  hill 
across  the  creek  where  McClellan  had  his 
quarters,  often  sending  big  shot  and  shell 
right  over  our  heads,  at  the  enemy! 
Why,  there  were  more  men  on  both  sides 
killed  and  wounded  that  day  than  would 
make  the  entire  population  of  Bangor. 
It  was  dreadful,  to  be  sure;  yet  it  was 
grand,  too.  You  can  understand  what  I 
mean,  can't  you?" 

"  Yes.  There  was  where  you  lost  your 
arm,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Right  there  in  that  bloody  cornfield, 
when  the  whole  woods  beyond  were  blaz- 
ing fwith  the  flashes  of  the  Confederate 
muskets,  and  the  whistling  of  bullets  was 
one  continual  screech.  Our  line  had 
charged,  driven  the  enemy,  and  was  now 
being  driven  in  turn.  I  had  fired,  and 
was  reloading,  when  a  bullet  6truck  me." 

"  How  did  it  feel?" 

UA  good  deal  as  if  somebody  had  hit 
me  with  a  club.  My  arm  was  helpless, 
and  I  found  by  feeling  of  it  that  there 
were  broken  bones.  I  dropped  my  mus- 
ket and  made  for  the  rear,  as,  of  course,  a 
wounded  man  has  a  right  to  do;  and  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  get  back  out  of  the 
range  of  the  fire  without  being  hit  again. 
Many  a  poor  fellow  has  been  shot  dead 
while  trying  to  get  off  the  field  with  a 
wound." 

'Tell  me  all  about  yourself,  Jerry. 
What  did  you  do?" 

"  I  made»my  way  back  to  Boonesboro,  a 
village  several  miles  in  rear  of  our  right. 
The  road  between  was  a  sight,  I  can  tell 
you:  filled  with  ambulances  going  to  the 
rear  with  loads  of  wounded;  and  six-mule 
teams  coming  up  with  ammunition,  and 
caissons  going  to  the  front;  drivers  whip- 
ping and  swearing,  and  lots  o'  wounded 


men  on  foot,  who  couldn't  find  room  in 
the  ambulances.  I  met  a  brigade  of  in- 
fantry hurrying  by  to  go  in  on  the  right, 
and  I  saw  some  pretty  white  faces  in  the 
ranks.  The  men  knew  well  enough  where 
they  were  going,  for  there  was  an  inces- 
sant rip,  rip,  rattle  of  musketry,  while 
each  minute  there  was  a  shock  from  the 
artillery  like  a  tremendous  peal  ^f  thun- 
der. It  was  the  noisiest  battle  I  ever 
knew;  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  air 
was  quivering  and  shaking,  and  you  could 
almost  follow  the  -course  of  Antietam 
Creek  by  the  curls  of  smoke  that  hung 
over  it.  Getting  back  to  Boonesboro,  I 
found  almost  every  house  filled  with 
wounded,  and  not  half  doctors  enough  to 
attend  to  them.  I  lay  around  till  night, 
listening  to  the  noise  from  the  front,  and 
hearing  all  kinds  of  stories  about  how  the 
battle  was  going.  My  arm  got  very  sore 
and  painful;  I  got  quite  hungry,  too,  and 
was  glad  to  share  some  bacon  and  hard- 
tack with  a  wounded  comrade,  who  had 
kept  his  haversack.  Near  dark  I  got  a 
chance  to  show  my  wound  to  one  of  the 
surgeons.  He  stripped  up  my  sleeve, 
looked  at  the  arm,  felt  of  it,  and  shook 
his  head.  !  You'll  have  to  lose  it,  my 
boy,'  he  said;  '  the  bones  are  smashed 
too  badly  for  any  doctor  to  save  it.'  He 
sponged  off  the  blood  that  had  dried  on, 
bandaged  the  wound,  put  the  arm  in  a 
sling,  and  gave  me  a  dose  of  something 
strong  to  brace  me  up,  as  I  was  quite 
faint  with  pain.  Several  wagons  and 
ambulances  started  that  night  for  Fred- 
erick, over  the  hills,  full  of  wounded  men, 
and  I  was  put  into  one  of  them.  It  was 
a  hard  journey  for  us  poor  fellows,  with 
aching  wounds,  over  that  rough  road!  An 
ambulance  on  easy  springs  couldn't  move 
softly  enough;  and  I  happened  to  go  in  a 
wagon  without  springs,  and  was  dread- 
fully jolted.  Soldiers  keep  up  their  cour- 
age pretty  well,  usually;  but  I  heard 
screams  and  cries  that  night  from  poor, 
tortured  fellows,  as  that  melancholy  pro- 
cession wound  along.  We  reached  Fred- 
erick the  next  morning,  and  then  I  may 
say  my  troubles  were  pretty  much  over. 
There  was  a  temporary  hospital  there,  in 
a  large  building,  where  we  were  taken;  I 
was  chloroformed,  and  my  arm  was  taken 
off  without  my  knowing:  anything  about 
it.  When  I  came  to  myself  an  hour  or 
two  after,  it  seemed  very  strange  to  find 
out  that  I  had  but  one  arm;  and  it  was 
queer  enough  to  feel  a  kind  of  tingling  in 
the  stump  of  the  one  that  was  gone,  just 
as  though  I  could  feel  the  fingers  of  the 
hand  that  was  off.  The  doctor  smiled 
when  I  told  him  of  it.  '  Yes,'  he  said, 
1  that's  what  they  all  say,  who  have  a 
limb  taken  off.  The  nerves  of  thehuman 
body  are  curious  things,  and  sometimes 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


there's  no  accounting  for  the  way  they 
work.' 

"  '  What  did  you  do  with  my  arm,  doc- 
tor?' I  inquired. 

"'Why,  one  of  the  attendants  put  it 
in  a  basket  with  a  bushel  more  of  limbs 
that  we've  been  cutting  off.  You  don't 
want  to  look  at  it?' 

'"'No,  sir.  But  there's  a  ring  on  the 
little  finger  of  that  hand  that  I'd  like  to 
keep.'  • 

"He  promised  to  get  it  for  me.  I 
a?ked  him  how  the  battle  had  gone? 

"  "It's  a  kind  of  a  Union  victory,' he  said, 
'and  not  very  much  of  a  one,  either. 
Our  army  holds  the  ground,  and  the  Con- 
federates are  about  to  cross  the  Potomac. 
But  it  was  the  bloodiest  day  this  land  ever 
saw.     Now  you  go  to  sleep.' " 

"Psuppose  you  got  your  ring?"  said 
Burt. 

"I  never  got  it.  The  doctor  could  not 
find  it;  somebody  had  taken  it  from  the 
dead  finger." 

"Why,  that  was  monstrous!"  Burt 
cried. 

"To  be  sure;  and  such  things  hap- 
pened very  often.  The  grandest  things, 
the  most  awful  things,  and  the  very 
meanest  things  that  men  can  be  guilty 
of,  come  with  war.  There  is  hardly  a 
battle  but  many  of  the  dead  and  wounded 
are  robbed,  and  it  makes  a  man  feel  sick 
of  his  kind  to  think  of  it;  but  then,  set 
off  against  that,  some  of  the  noble  and 
heroic  things  that  war  leads  men  to  do! 
I  have  seen  soldiers  risk  their  own  lives 
to  carry  to  a  wounded  and  suffering  com- 
rade a  canteen  of  water;  yes,  I  have  seen 
men  shot  dead  while  trying  to  do  that. 
I've  seen  men  leave  the  hospital  who  were 
not  fit  to  sit  up,  take  their  muskets,  and 
go  into  a  fight,  because  they  could  not 
bear  to  have  their  company  go  into  bat- 
tle without  them.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  Burt, 
the  war  brings  out  all  the  good  there  is 
in  a  man,  as  well  as  the  bad." 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  understand  it  better, 
now.  Was  this  the  end  of  your  experi- 
ence?" 

"Pretty  much.  I  was  at  Frederick 
only  a  week.  The  people  there  were  very 
kind  to  the  wounded,  and  attended  to  all 
our  wants.  The  women,  God  bless  them! 
would  visit  us  and  bring  us  delicacies  to 
eat  and  drink.  From  Frederick,  I  was 
taken  to  Baltimore  by. rail,  where  I  was 
in  a  hospital  for  more  than  three  months. 
A  fever  came  on,  and  I  was  a  long  time 
getting  over  it.  At  Baltimore  there  were 
then  half  a  dozen  very  large  hospitals, 
all  crowded  with  wounded  from  Antie- 
tam.  Many  were  sent  to  Philadelphia. 
So,  now,  you  know  all  about  my  last 
months  in  the  military  service.  Do  you 
still  think  you'd  like  to  be  a  soldier?" 


Burt  looked  'serious,  but  replied  with- 
out hesitation: 

"Yes,  I  should.  But  there's  no  use  in 
talking  about  it;  the  war  will  end  long 
before  I  am  eighteen." 

"It  will  end  sooner  than  I  think  for,  if 
that  is  so — for  you'll  be  eighteen  in  a 
year.  My  word  for  it,  Burt  Carrier,  if 
you  hold  to  the  determination  to  be  a 
soldier,  you'll  have  a  chance  yet  in  this 
very  war." 


CHAPTER  II. 

BURT  VOLUNTEERS. 

In  the  next  year  some  changes  came 
which  greatly  influenced  the  future  career 
of  our  3Toung  hero. 

The  first  was  the  sudden  and  sad  death 
of  his  father. 

Mr.  Carrier  was  instantly  killed  by  the 
untimely  fall  of  a  large  tree  that  a  gang 
of  men  was  cutting  down  under  his  di- 
rection. Burt  was  very  much  affected 
by  the  event,  for  his  father  had  always 
been  a  kind  and  a  good  one  to  him;  but 
he  put  aside  his  own  grief  in  his  meanly 
effort  to  comfort  and  sustain  his  mother 
in  her  great  bereavement  and  sorrow. 

Mr.  Carrier  died  poor,  and  Burt  was 
the  only  one  of  the  children  able  to  earn 
money. 

The  care  of  the  family  prevented  Mrs; 
Carrier  from  doing  much  to  bring  in 
money,  so  that  Burt  became  the  main- 
stay of  the  little  home.  He  toiled  early 
and  late,  brought  all  his  earnings  home, 
and  seemed  happy  and  contented,  while 
in  reality  he  was  troubled  for  the  future1 
of  his  mother,  and  his  little  brothers  and 
sisters.  He  saw  that  the  family  was  get- 
ting into  debt,  and  that  there  was  no 
prospect  of  any  better  times  ahead.  He 
did  not  talk  with  his  mother  about  it, 
because  he  was  not  ready  to  say  to  her 
what  he  felt  he  must  say  soon.  He  had 
lately  had  a  talk  with  Jerry  Wall,  which 
strengthened  his  determination  to  enlist 
when  he  should  be  eighteen.  That  would 
be  in  the  next  June;  it  was  now  February. 
1864.  ' 

The  armies  were  resting  in  winter 
quarters,  and  preparations  were  going 
forward  for  the  campaign  that  would 
open  in  the  spring. 

It  was  very  certain  that  there  must  be 
a  great  deal  more  fighting  and  bloodshed 
before  peace  could  come;  Jerry's  predic- 
tion about  Burt  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
realized. 

This  particular  talk  between  Burt  and 
Jerry  had  much  to  do  with  some  of  the 
adventures  that  happened  to  the  former 
not  long  after.  So  we  must  give  it  in 
full. 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


Jerry  now  made  his  home  at  Mr.  Car- 
rier's. He  was  able  to  do  the  light  chores 
about  the  house,  and  our  of  his  pension 
pay  his  board.  He  thought  it  a  privilege 
to  have  the  society  of  such  a  family,  and 
before  he  had  been  with  them  a  month  it 
would  have  been  considered  a  great  mis- 
fortune on  both  sides,  had  anything  oc- 
curred to  break  up  these  pleasant  rela- 
tions. 

Burt  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  the 
war  news  aloud  from  the  newspapers 
that  came  up  from  Bangor.  One  night 
he  came  across  an  item  stating  that  two 
substitutes  had  been  shot  at  Harper's 
Ferry  on  the  way  to  the  front,  while  try- 
ing to  desert. 

"  A  soldier  try  to  desert!"  exclaimed 
Burt,  laying  down  his  paper.  "Why, 
that  is  abominable!'1 

"  Still,  there's  a  good  deal  of  that  kind 
of  thing  going  on  now,"  said  Jerry. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  it,"  rejoined 
Burt.  "  1  see  a  great  deal  in  the  papers 
lately  about  drafted  men  and  conscripts, 
bounty-jumpers,  and  soon,  that  I  don't 
get  hold.  of.     How  is  it,  Jerr\?" 

"I'll  make  it  plain  to  you,  Burt.  First, 
you  must  know  .that  times  have  changed 
since  the  spring  of  '61,  when  I  enlisted. 
It  was  all  patriotism  then,  there  was  lit- 
tle bounty  paid,  and  little  need  to  pay 
atty,  for  the  voung  men  were  eager  to  en- 
list. 

"So  it  was  for  two  years  after  that.' 
Hundreds  of  regiments  were  enrolled  and 
sent  to  the  war,  and  the  Government 
might  have  had  many  more,  just  for  the 
asking. 

"But  the  change  came  after  the  first 
two  years.  People  began  to  see  that  the 
war  was  going  to  last  a  good  while  longer, 
and  that  the  bloodshed  was  frightful. 
Volunteers  could  not  be  had,  and  the 
Government  had  to  resort  to  drafting^ 
That  is,  when  three  hundred  thousaud 
more  men  were  called  for, .  they  were 
picked  out  by  lot." 

"And  had  to  go  as  soldiers?'' 

"  Yes,  unless  they  could  furnish  substi- 
tutes; that  is,  hire  other  people  to  go  in 
their  places." 

"1  see,"  said  Burt.  'But  is  there  no 
volunteering  now?" 

"Some;  but  not.  near  so  much  as  there 
used  to  be.  And  it  is  so  much  harder  to 
get  men  for  the  armies  than  it  used  to  be, 
that  large  bounties  are  offered." 

"How  much?"  asked  Burt. 

"I  can't  exactly  say;  but  I  think  that 
from  the  National,  State  and  county 
bounty,  a  volunteer  might  now  get  as 
much  as  five  hundred  dollars." 

Five  hundred  dollars! 

Burt  heard,  and  thought  fast.  Before 
now,  all  his  ideas  of  becoming  a  soldier 


had  sprung  from  duty  and  patriotism,  as 
well  as  from  his  longing  for  excitement 
and  adventure.  He  had  also  thought, 
lately,  that  a  soldier's  monthly  pay,  al- 
though only  thirteen  dollars,  would  be  a 
great  help  to  his  dear  mother  in  her  pres- 
ent extremities.  But  'five  hundred  dol- 
lars in  one  lump — if  he  could  honestly 
get  that  by  enlisting,  whatahelp  it  would 
be  to  the  family. 

These  reflections  ran  in  his  head  while 
Jerry  went  on  talking: 

"But  some.of  the  other  substitutes,  I 
hear,  get  as  much  as  a  thousand  dollars 
each,  to  go  in  place  of  those  who  are 
drafted;  and  some  of  them  are  poor 
enough  specimens,  I  fear.  We  hear  a 
great  deal  about  this  running  away  to 
Canada  after  getting  their  bounty,  and 
once  in  a  while  one  of  them  gets  his 
deserts,  and  is  shot — as  the  two  were  that 
you  just  read  of." 

"  Yes,  the  scoundrels  were  served 
right  "  said  Burt,  warmly.  "Think  of  a 
man  who  would  try  to  run  away  afteren- 
listing  to  serve  his  country — especially 
after  taking  so  much  money  for  it! 
Shooting  is  too  good  for  him." 

"That's  the  talk,  my  young  man!'* 
Jerry  cried,  waving  his  empty  sleeve. 

"  Oh,  it  sail  a  dreadful  business!"  sighed 
Mrs.  Carrier.  "  I  wish  it  was  all  over  and 
done." 

"It  will  be,  after  a  few  more  cam- 
paigns," replied  Jerry.  "  But  there  must 
be  many  fierce  battles  first,  and  thou- 
sands of  men  killed  and  wouuded.  Mean- 
time, both  sides  are  making  tremendous 
efforts  to  fill  up  their  armies.  At  the 
South  they  take  men  wherever  they  find 
them;  hardly  any  one  is  excused.  But  I* 
suspect  that  many  of  these  'substitutes' 
sent  down  from  the  North  are  not  worth 
the  powder  to  shoot  them." 

"  Mother!"  Burt  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"I  can't  put  off  telling  you  any  longer. 
On  the  first  day  of  June  I  shall  be  eight- 
een, and  I  am  going  to  enlist." 

"Oh,  Burt!" 

His  mother  looked  at  him  with  tearful, 
pleading  eyes.  Jerry  said  nothing,  at 
first:  but  he  looked  far  from  being  dis- 
pleased. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  mother,"  the  son  went 
on.  "  iTou  know  I've  had  it  on  my 
mind  for  three  years,  ever  since  the  war 
began.  I  know  that  if  father  had  lived, 
he  would  consent;  I  heard  him  say  as 
much  to  you  once." 

"You  are  my  dependence,  Burt.  How 
can  I  bear  to  let  you  go?  What  can  I  do 
without  you?" 

"  You  have  just  heard  what  Jerry  says. 
I  can't  benefit  you  as  much  in  any  way 
as  I  can  by  enlisting." 

"It's  good   of  you    to   think  of  that. 


BURT.  THE  HERO. 


Burt;    but  — but  —  oh,  dear    rue!    You 
mustn't  go." 

The  distressed  mother  wrung  her  hands, 
;u)d  looked  at  her  boy  through  fast-falling 
tears.  That  was  the  way  that  mothers 
•very where  were   affected    by  the  great, 

.1  war.  Burt  was  a  good  deal  shaken, 
himself,  and  Ins  voice  trembled.;  but  he 
held  stead ly  to  his  purpose. 
,  VT  have  thought  of  all  that  is  troubling 
you,  dear  mother,"  he  replied,  "and  i 
i'eel  that  I  must  go.  There  is  a  chance 
for  a  career  for  me  in  the  army,  and  I 
hope  I  may  come  home  alive  to  enjoy 
many  happy  yea#s  with  you.  But,  any- 
way, I  don't  think  it  would  be  manly  in 
me  to  shirk  at  such  a  time.  The  Govern- 
ment needs  men,  and  I  have  my  duty  to 
do.  Mother!  I  slTbnld  never  feel  satisfied 
with  myself  if  I  did  not  go  to  the  war." 

He  said  it  very  earnestly. 

She  saw  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 
She  went  and  kissed  him,  and  said,  in  a 
broken  voice: 

"God  bless  and  keep  you  safely,  my 
boy.  1  shall  pray  daily  that  you  may  be 
spared  and  return  to  me." 

She  left  the  room  to  hide  her  grief. 
After  a  moment's  silence,  Burt  said: 

"It  is  very  painful,  Jerry,  as  you  see. 
But— am  I  rit>ht?" 

"Of  course' you  are,  my  boy.  You 
can't  feel  any  different.  I  felt  just  so  in 
'61;  I  should  feel  so  now,  but  for  this 
empty  sleeve.  Go  on,  and  good  fortune 
to  you!  I'll  take  care  of  things  while  you 
are  gone." 

We  need  not  delay  in  reaching  the 
time  to  which  Burt  was  now  eagerly  look- 
ing forward. 

The  spring  advanced;  the  oampaigns 
were  opened,  and  the  whole  land  was 
looking  on  breathless  at  the  great  events 
that  were(  happening. 

Once,  after  enlisting,  Burt  was  per- 
mitted to  come  home,  to  bring  to  his 
mother  the  bounty  he  had  received,  and 
to  say  good-by.  He  came  dressed  in  the 
dark-blue  blouse  and  light-blue  trousers 
of  the  infantry  soldier,  with  a  large  pair 
Government  shoes  on  his  feet,  and  a  blue 
cloth  cap  on  his  head. 

We  must  pass  over  the  sad  partings 
that  followed. 

Jerry  Wall  accompanied  him  back  to 
Bangor,  and  waved  his  farewell  from  the 
wharf  as  the  steamer  went  down  the 
river. 


CHAPTER  III. 

STIRRING  SCENES  AFLOAT. 

Burt  Carrier  was  at  this  time,  as  we 
have  seen,  young,  ardent  and  hopeful, 
eager  to    see  army-life,    which    he    had 


heard  and  nead  so  much  about,  and  with 
a  buoyancy  of  spirits  that  soon  put  out 
of  his  head  the  pain  of  the  parting  that 
he  had  Just  gone  through.  But  it  often 
happens— indeed  it  usually  happens — to 
the  youth  going  out  into  the  world  lor 
the  first  time,  that  things  are  not  at  all 
as  he  expected  them  to  be;  and  so  it  was 
now,  with  Burt.  'His  first  experiences  of 
military  life  were  not  at  all  pleasant. 

The  steamer  carried  about  fifty  new  re- 
cruits, under  guard  of  a  Sergeant  and 
twenty  veteran  soldiers  who  had  been 
sent  from  Boston  for  this  service.  A 
Lieutenant  had  been  in  command, but  had 
been  taken  sick  at  Bangor.  The  Sergeant 
was  a  good  soldier  of  a  great  deal  of  exper- 
ience in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and 
the  responsibility  that  was  now  put  upon 
hfm  of  delivering  these  men  safely  at 
Boston,  on  their  way  to  the  front,  made 
him  irritable  and  suspicious.  He  re- 
garded the  whole  party  as  of  the  "bounty- 
jumping"  class,  and  plainly  told  them  so 
in  a  little  speech  that  he  made  to  them 
in  the  forward  saloon,  where  they  were 
to  eat  and  sleep. 

"  Now,  attend  to  me,  you  bummers 
and  coffee-coolers,"  he  said.  "You  will 
be  under  my  orders  till  vfe  get  to  Boston, 
and  then  I'll  hand  you  over  to  somebody 
else.  I'll  tell  you,  plainly,  what  you've 
got  to  do,  and  if  you  obey,  there'll  "be  no 
trouble  ;  if  you  don't",  you'll  suffer. 
Cooked  rations,  including  coffee,  will  be 
served  to  you  here  three  times  a  day;  at 
night  you  will  spread  down  your  blan- 
kets here  on  the  floor,  and  sleep.  If 
there's  any'  unnecessary  noise  or  any 
fighting,  I'll  put  the  guilty  men  in  irons. 
You  may  have  the  liberty  of  this  saloon; 
you  may  walk  about  the  forward  deck, 
so  long  as  you  don't  get  in  the  way  of 
the  guards  or  the  people  who  run" the 
boat;  but  let  no  man  go  to  the  rail.  If 
you  try  it,  you'll  be  warned  back  by  f*he 
guards;  if  you  don't  mind,  you'll  be  shot. 
You  hear  me?  Any  man  that  attempts 
to  leave  the  boat  in  any  shape  will  get  a 
bullet  through  him.  "  Drum  and  fife, 
there! — sound  '  Peas  en  a  Trencher.'" 

This  is  the  "dinner-call '*  in  the  army. 
Burt  naturally  looked  for  something 
good  to  eat,  after  hearing  the  name  of 
the  call.  What  was  dealt  oat  to  the  re- 
cruits, was  to  each  man  hot  coffee  in  a 
tin  cup,  without  milk  or  sugar,  half  a 
dozen  hard  crackers,  and  a  slice  of  fat 
smoked  bacon.  And  this,  by  the  way, 
was  the  staple  of  their  fare  while  on  the 
boat,  varied  occasionally  with  a  portion 
of  mush  and  molasses. , 

There  were  some  rueful  faces  in  the 
crowd,  and  here  and  there  a  muttered 
protest,  as  the  quality  of  the  fare  was 
known;  which   led   the  Sergeant    to  in- 


8 


BURT.  THE  HERO. 


dulge  in  some  further  remarks,  of  a  sar- 
castic nature. 

"  You  don't  like  it,  then,  my  ducks? 
Want  some  roast  beef  and  plum  pud- 
ding, do  you?  Wish  you  were  at  home, 
I  suppose;  sorry  you  enlisted,  maybe? 
Well,  you'll  be  a  mighty  sight  sorrier  be- 
fore you  get  through  with  it,  I  guess. 
You'll  get  licked  into  shape  pretty  soon, 
my  fine  gentlemen.  Just  don't  let  me 
hear  any  of  your  nonsense." 

With  this,  the  Sergeant  marched  away. 

Burt  nibbled  at  his  "  hard-tack,"  tasted 
the  coffee,  and  threw  away  the  bacon  as 
uneatable.  His  thoughts  were  at  first  by 
no  means  pleasant.  He  was  quite  proud- 
spirited, and  to  be  classed  at  the  very 
onset  as  a  ''bummer"  and  "coffee-cooler," 
words  which  Jerry  had  told  him  were 
only  used  in  reproach  among  soldiers, 
was  not  at  all  comfortable.  But  a  little 
thought  showed  him  the  real  situation. 
He  remembered  Jerry's  repeated  warn- 
ings, that  he  must  submit  himself  to  dis- 
cipline and  authority,  even  when  they 
came  in  a  disagreeable  way;  and  he  re- 
flected that  there  was  probably  a  num- 
ber of  the  "bounty  jumping"  class 
aboard,  with  wh»m  the  Sergeant's  sever- 
ity would  be  fully  justified. 

He  began  to  look  about  him,  and  study 
his  companions.  He  had  never  seen  one 
of  them  before;  but  he  could  not  mistake 
their  taces.  About  two-thirds  of  them 
were  honest-looking  and  sturdy  country 
youths,  who  would  make  good  and  true 
soldiers;  the  other  third  were  evil-look- 
ing fellows  from  Bangor,  who  had  en- 
listed only  for  the  large  bounty,  and  who 
meant  to  take  the  first  chance  to  desert. 

The  Sergeant  had  carefully  "sized 
them  up,"  and  meant  to  be  ready  for 
them. 

You  cannot  make  oil  and  water  unite; 
no  more  will  good  and  evil  fuse  together. 

In  two  hours  after  the  boat  had  left 
Bangor,  the  two  parties  of  recruits  had 
drawn  away  from  each  other,  each  oc- 
cupying a  different  end  of  the  saloon. 
The  country  boys  were  soon  on  good 
terms  together,  trying  to  make  the  best 
of  the  small  miseries  of  the  situation, 
while  the  other  crowd  were  gambling  and 
swearing.  When  the  steamer  reached  the 
bay,  and  the  swells  from  the  sea  caused 
her  to  rock,  some  one  of  the  larger  party 
started  the  hymn  "We  are  out  on  the 
ocean  sailing,"  in  which  most  of  them 
joined  with  spirit,  while  the  other  fellows 
jeerea  and  hooted.  The  testy  Sergeant 
sent  an  order  to  "stop  that  confounded 
noise," and  he  was'  of  course,  obeyed. 

The  days  were  at  their  longest,  and 
many  grew  tired  and  sleepy  before  dusk. 
They  made  their  hard  beds  with  their 
blankets  on  the  floor,  and  some  of  them 


slept,  dreaming  of  home,  so  lately  left, 
but  which  seemed  so  far  away.  Far 
away  indeed  it  was  to  those  who  were 
never  to  see  it  again!  Others  could  not 
sleep,*  but  lay  awake  and  talked  of  the 
future  before  them,  and  of  what  they 
might  be  doing  a  week  later.  After 
awhile  silence  came,  broken  only  by  the 
snore  of  some  heavy  sleeper. 

Burt  Carrier  lay  awake,  unable  to  stop 
thinking,  yet  wishing  for  sleep,  when  he 
felt  a  hand  feeling  lightly  over  him.  He 
knew  at  once  what  it  meant,  but  lay  per- 
fectly still.  The  hand  approached  his 
watch-pocket,  the  fingers  were  inserted 
to  seize  the  watch — when  Burt  reached 
out  and  grabbed  the  thief  by  the  hair. 
The  fellow  yelled  out  some  jargon  that 
was  well  understood  by  his  crowd,  for 
several  of  them  jumped  up  and  hastened 
to  his  aid.  The  noise  awoke  the  other 
party,  who  were  also  quickly  on  their 
feet,  and  the  saloon  was  at  once  a  babel 
of  cries  and  confusion. 

A  lamp  suspended  in  the  middle  of  the 
ceiling  gave  but  a  faint  light,  yet  suffi- 
cient to  allow  Burt  to  see  what  was  threat- 
ening him.  He  had  not  let  go  of  the 
thief's  hair,  and  held  the  fellow  down 
with  his  left  hand,  while  with  his  right 
he  menaced  the  ruffians  who  crowded  up 
to  him. 

"  Stand  back!"  he  cried.  "  If  you  touch 
me,  you'll  be  sorry.  This  man  tried  to 
steal  my  watch.  I'm  going  to  give  him 
up  to  the  Sergeant." 

Oaths  and  abuse  answered  him,  and 
one  of  the  men  came  close  up  and  shook 
his  fist  in  his  face.  Burt  promptly  dealt 
him  a  blow  that  sent  him  sprawling,  and 
caused  his  companions  to  fall  back.  In 
the  midst  of  the  uproar  the  Sergeant 
rushed  in  with  two  soldiers,  bearing  mus- 
kets with  bayonets.  He  was  in  a  furious 
passion  at  first;  but  after  hearing  several 
accounts  of  the  matter,  and  observing 
that  Burt  still  had  his  prisoner  fast  by 
the  hair,  and  gave  him  an  occasional 
thump  on  the  side  of  the  head  to  make 
him  keep  quiet,  he  saw  the  true  state  of 
the  case. 

"I  think  you  tell  the  truth,  young  fel- 
low," he  said.  "You  look  like  it,  any- 
way; and  if  this  other  chap  ain't  a  thief, 
his'face  is  against  him.  You,"  to  the  sol- 
diers, "take  him  up  to  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  anil  tie  him  tight  to  the  big  anchor 
there.  I  tell  you  fellows,  now,  I've  a  lot 
of  choice  punishments  waiting  for  you, 
when  vou're  caught  in  any  deviltrv  like 
this."  " 

After  this  incident,  the  night  passed 
quietly,  and  Burt  slept  till  he  was  awak- 
ened by  the  drums  and  fifes  sounding  the 
"reveille."  The  Sergeant  was  all  "  regu- 
lation,"   and  he    would  have    the    calls 


BURT.  THE  HERO. 


sounded  the  same  as  though  they  were 
in  camp. 

During  the  day,  as  Burt  was  standing 
on  the  forward  deck,  looking  at  the  great 
expanse  of  the  ocean,  and  the  sails  and 
steamers  near  and  far  off,  the  Sergeant 
accosted  him: 

"You  were  perfectly  right  about  that 
affair  last  night,  young  fellow.  You  did 
the  right  thing  in  holding  the  rascal  tight 
till  I  could  take  care  of  him.  You  look 
as  though  you'd  make  a  soldier;  what 
regiment  are  you  for?1' 

"I  asked  to  be  put  into  a  Maine  regi- 
ment," replied  Burt,  "and  the  officer  at 
Bangor  said  I  should  be." 

"  Look  at  your  descriptive-list,"  said  the 
Sergeant.     "  That'll  tell  you." 

Burt  took    out  the    paper    and    con- 
sulted it.     "The  Twenty-ninth,''  he  read. 
"The  Twenty-ninth,   indeed!"  echoed 
the  Sergeant.     "  Well,  you've  got  a  long 
voyage  before  you." 

"Why,  are  they  not  in  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac?" 

"  No;  they  are  in  Louisiana.  I  happen 
to  know,  for  I  have  friends  among  them. 
Last  month  they  wei'e  away  up  the  Red 
River." 

Burt  was  rather  overwhelmed  by  this 
unexpected  discovery,  and  stared  blankly 
at  the  Sergeant. 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  said  the  latter,  with 
a  laugh.  "  You'll  get  along,  anyhow, 
and  you'll  see  service  enough  anywhere 
with  the  Twenty-ninth.  Take  things  as 
as  they  come,  my  lad,  and  do  your  duty, 
and  you'll  be  all  right." 

Our  young  soldier  was  much  disturbed, 
however,  by  this  news.  To  serve  with 
the  army  two  thousand  miles  away  from 
home  was  a  different  thing  from  a  few 
hundred.  He  blamed  himself  for  not  mak- 
ing sure  that  the  regiment  to  which  he 
was  to  be  sent  was  in  Virginia.  He  could 
not  but  be  worried  about  the  matter, 
though  he  knew  that  there  was  no  help 
for  it. 

But  affairs  were  arranging  themselves 
very  strangely  in  his  case.  Things  that 
lie  could  not  have  dreamed  of  were  to 
happen  before  he  should  join  his  regi- 
ment. *- 

We  shall  not  have  the  space  to  record 
all  the  interesting  incidents  that  oc- 
curred on  the  voyage  of  this  steamer  to 
Boston.  One  only  can  be  noticed;  the 
most  memorable  one  of  the  voyage. 

The  steamer  was  to  stop  at  Portland 
for  another  party  of  recruits.  Instead  of 
going  up  to  the  city,  she  anchored  in  the 
bay,  and  the  men  were  brought  down  in 
a  small  steamboat.  It  was  just  at  night. 
There  were  islands  near  the  anchored 
vessel;  one  not  more  than  four  rods  off. 
The  Sergeant  went  from  sentinel  to  sen- 


tinel, exhorting  them  to  be  vigilant,  and 
not  permit  a  man  to  go  to  the  rail. 

"It's  here,"  he  said,  "that  some  of 
those  scoundrels  below  may  try  to  run 
for  it." 

About  nine  o'clock,  and  before  the 
boat- load  from  Portland  had  arrived,  the 
cry  of  a  sentinel  from  the  deck,  "Halt — 
halt!"  was  heard,  followed  immediately 
by  a  plunge  overboard.  There  was  a 
musket-shot,  another  and  another.  The 
Sergeant  rushed  to  the  spot;  the  near- 
est sentinel,  as  he  reloaded  his  musket, 
pointed  to  the  form  of  a  man  struggling 
in  the  water,  which  was  tinged  near  him 
with  a  bloody  streak.  As  they  looked, 
the  form  sunk  out  of  sight. 

"He  must  be  dead,"  said  the  sentry. 
"I  know  I  hit  him,  and  very  likely  the 
other  did,  too." 

"  How  was  it?"  the  Sergeant  asked. 

"  He  sprang  right  overboard,  never 
heeding  my  challenge.  Of  course,  he 
meant  to  swim  to  the  island  yonder." 

The  whole  body  of  recruits  were  assem- 
bled below,  the  roll  called,  and  the  name 
of  the  desperate  man,  whose  life  had 
thus  ended,  was  discovered.  He  was 
the  same  who  had  tried  to  steal  Burt's 
watch. 

"The  United  States  army  is  better 
without  such  creatures,"  was  the  Ser-  » 
geant's  remark.  "You  know,  now,  if 
you  did  not  before,  you  bounty-jumpers, 
what  is  waiting  for  you  when  you  try  to 
escape." 

The  Portland  party  came  aboard,  and 
the  voyage  was  continued. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TOWARD   THE   FRONT. 

Burt  Carrier  had  supposed  that  he 
would  only  remain  a  day  or  two  in  Bos- 
ton, and  go  thence  to  New  York,  taking 
the  steamer  from  there  for  the  long  voy- 
age to  New  Orleans.  But  nothing  fell 
out  as  he  had  expected.  On  being  dis- 
embarked at  the  wharf,  at  Boston,  the 
recruits  were  marched  some  distance  'to- 
ward the  Back  Bay,  and  put  in  a  large 
barracks. 

These  were  long,  wooden  buildings 
where  the  men  slept  in  wooden  bunks, 
and  a  great  room  where  they  were 
marched  in  three  times  a  day  to  eat  their 
rations,  sitting  on  benches  around  long 
pine  tables;  rather  better  food  than  had 
been  given  them  aboard  the  steamboat. 

There  was  a  better  building,  where 
the  commandment  of  the  barracks,  the 
adjutant  and  quartermaster  lived  and 
had  their  offices;  and  there  was  a  great 
open  place  where  the  company  of  in- 
fantry that  garrisoned  the  place  mounted 
!  guard. 


10 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


These  were  veteran  soldiers,  and  Burt 
admired  their  appearance  very  much, 
with  their  neat  uniforms,  their  shining 
muskets  and  belt-plates,  and  the  precis- 
ion of  all  their  movements. 

The  recruits  in  all  their  awkwardness 
made  a  sorry  show  in  comparison,  and 
our  voting  hero  was  becoming  more  im- 
patient than  ever  to  be  a  real  soldier. 

The  barracks  were  well  guarded ;  pacing 
their  beats  outside,  and  at  every  place 
where  a  person  could  pass  out,  was  a 
soldier  with  musket  and  fixed  bayonet, 
and  none  of  the  men  could  leave  without 
the  pass  of  the  commandant. 

As  a  week  went  by,  and  there  was  no 
change,  Burt  grew  uneasy  and  almost 
homesick.  He  saw  that  all  the  recruits 
were  distrusted,  the  good  and  the  bad 
alike,  and  were  to  be  treated  as  prisoners 
until  they  could  be  delivered  to  their  re- 
spective regiments.  To  relieve  his  feel- 
ings, he  sat  down  in  his  wooden  bunk 
and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  mother, 
and  another  to  Jerry  Wall.  He  did  not 
complain,  and  wrote  as  cheerfully  as  he 
could;  but  it  could  be  plainly  seen  from 
those  two  letters  that  he  was  disap- 
pointed, so  far,  with  his  military  experi- 
ence. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  week  both 
letters  were  answered;  his  mother's  in 
such  a  loving,  encouraging  way,  and  Jer- 
rv's  in  such  a  rollicking,  hearty  fashion, 
making  light  of  the  young  soldier's  dis- 
comfort and  discontent,  that  Burt  felt 
very  much  better  after  reading  them. 

Soon  things  began  to  occur  that  made 
him  feel  still  better.  Among  the  better 
class  of  recruits  he  made*  some  acquaint- 
ances, and  began  to  enjoy  their  society 
and  talk.  He  found  tnat  they  were  from 
all  parts  of  New  England,  and  were  able 
to  tell  him  much  that  was  interesting 
about  the  places  where  they  lived. 

Then,  one  morning  the  order  came  to 
the  barracks,  "Recruits,  turn  out  for 
drill."  Nothing  could  have  pleased  Burt 
more,  and  he  and  others  like  him  obeyed 
promptly.  Others  went  unwillingly,  and 
with  muttering;  and  two  fellows,  who 
were  openly  defiant  and  disobedient, 
were  compelled  to  march  all  day  to  and 
fro  across  the  end  of  the  barrack-yard, 
each  carrying  a  heavy  logon  his  shoulder, 
and  a  great  placard,  with  the  word 
SKULK!  covering  his  breast. 

On  that  dav,  and  on  each  day  but  Sun- 
days of  three  weeks  that  followed,  the 
Sergeants  of  the  guard-company  drilled 
the  recruits,  putting  them  through  the 
"position  of  the  soldier,"  "school  of  the 
squad,"  "school  of  the  company,"  and 
»ven  thp  "  manual  of  arms,"  in  squads  of 
four  or  iive. 
This  was  something  that  Burt  highly 


delighted  in;  he  was  very  quick,  learned 
easily  and  rapidly,  and  soon  attracted  the 
attention  of  his  Sergeant  by  his  readi- 
ness. 

One  day  he  was  sent  for  to  go  to  head- 
quarters. He  went  in,  took  off  his  cap, 
and  gave  the  military  salute  to  the  Major, 
who  asked  him  his  name,  and  many  ques- 
tions about  himself.  His  appearance  and 
answers  were  satisfactory,  for  the  Major 
said: 

•'Well,  Currier,  I  think  you'll  do.  You 
have  been  recommended  to  me  for  an  or- 
derly, and  you  shall  be  detailed  for  that 
place.  Bring  your  traps  up  here,  and  re- 
port to  the  Adjutant.  You  will  mess  and 
sleep  with  the  headquarters  company." 

From  this  time,  while  he  remained  at 
the  barracks,  Burt  was  kept  quite  busy 
carrying  orders  and  messages,  not  only 
inside  the  guards,  but  <»ver  to  the  city, 
sometimes  long  distances.  He  always 
carried  a  pass  with  him,  and  frequently 
had  to  show  it  in  the  streets  to  patrolling 
parties  who  were  around  picking  up  stray 
soldiers.  When  not  engaged  in  these  du- 
ties he  was  often  in  the  Adjutant's  office, 
and  heard  much  that  interested  him 
about  the  movements  of  the  troops,  and 
what  was  going  on  in  Virginia,  and  else- 
where  at  the  front. 

One  day  he  learned  that  fiv<*  hundred 
of  the  recruits  in  these  barrack-*  were  to 
be  forward  to  the  army.  He  saw  them 
drawn  up  in  line  in  the  yard,  cooked  ra- 
tions issued  to  them,  and  then  saw  them 
marched  off  toward  one  of  the  railroad 
stations,  surrounded  by  fifty  guards  with 
officers  over  them. 

Burt  thought  it  was  a  rather  difift  >-en< 
way  of  going  to  the  war  than  what  ho 
had  thought  of  once,  and  not  very  flat- 
tering to  the  pride  of  the  patriotic  volun- 
teers; but  for  all  that  he  coui/1  not  help 
wishing  that  he  was  among  that  five 
hundred,  bound  for  somewhere  wher* 
powder  could  be  smelled  and.  real  wai 
seen. 

Two  or  three  times  a  week,  uf'^r  that, 
new  parties  of  recruits  ware  bi  ought  in, 
and  others  dispatched  southward.  Burt 
became  very  uneasy,  it  was  new  the 
first  week  in  July;  he  b.ul  been  a  *oldier 
five  weeks,  and  did  i«ot  see  any  sifns  of 
his  getting  away  from  these  barraeKs. 

One  day  he  ven;ured  to  speak  to  th# 
Major  about  it.  The  latter  was  sur 
prised. 

"What — you  want  to  be  sent  to  your 
regiment?'- he  f-cnoed.  "Why,  what  tha 
dickens  d'ye  lUban?  Ain't,  you  satisfied 
here?  You've  got  what  soldiers  call  'a 
soft  thing.'" 

"  I  could  not  want  a  better  place,  nor 
better  treatment,  sir,"  replied  Burt. 
"But  I  volunteered  because  I  wanted  to 


BUST,  THR  HERO. 


11 


gee  something  of  the  war,  myself,  and  I 
don't  see  much  of  it  here." 
The  Major  looked  amused. 
'*  You've  never  been  to  the  front?" 
"No.   sir.     But    I    want    to    go,    very 
much." 

"Do  you,  though?  Come,  now,  my 
.  lad,  let's  reason  about  that.  You  are 
useful  here;  I  find  you  faithful,  prompt 
and  exact,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
frankly,  I'd  like  to  keep  you  here.  I 
know  something  about  war;  I  enlisted 
in  the  ranks,  in  April,  1$G1,  and  rose  to 
wear  gold  leaves  on  my  shoulders,  as  you 
see.  Here  you  are  comfortable,  and 
ought  to  be  consented;  you  have  good 
fare,  and  a  nice  cot.  Don't  you  suppose, 
when  you  get  to  your  regiment,  and  have 
to  walk  twenty  miles  a  day,  in  the  h'eat 
and  dust,  that  you'll  think  of  these 
things?  When  you  have  nothing  to  eat 
but  a  hard  crackor  soaked  in  strong  cof- 
fee— and  sometimes  not  that — won't  you 
think  of  the  fresh  meat,  vegetables,  and 
all  that,  of  the  old  Boston  barracks? 
And  when  you  lie  down  on  the  wet 
ground  at  night,  with  nothing  over  you 
but  a  rubber  blanket  and  the  rainy  sky, 
won't  you  Avieh  you  were  back  in  your 
comfortable  cot,  here?" 

"I  have  thought  about  all  that,  sir," 
was  the  prompt  reply.  "I  have  read  all 
about  it;  and  I  have  a  friend  at  home 
who  lost  an  arm  at  Antietam,  who  has 
told  me  all  about  it.  I  expected  to  meet 
just  such  things  when  I  enlisted,  and  I 
am  not  afraid  of  them.  You  could  not 
do  me  a  greater  kindness  than  to  send 
me  to  my  regiment." 
The  Major  slapped  his  knee. 
"  You're  a  trump,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "I 
wish  all  of  that  crowd  out  in  the  barracks 
was  like  you.  Well,  you  shall  go.  I 
don't  like  to  lose  you,  but  I  must  not 
keep  so  good  a  soldier  as  you  will  make, 
from  the  field.  What's  your  regiment?" 
"The  Twenty-ninth  Maine.  I  learn 
that  they  arte  in  Louisiana." 

The  Major  consulted  some  papers. 
"  Oh,  no!"  he  said.  "Here  are  orders 
to  send  all  recruits  for  that  regiment  to 
Fortress  Monroe.  I  expect  I  know  what 
that  means.  I  spell  it  out  that  the 
Nineteenth  Army  Corps,  to  which  that 
regiment  belongs,  is  ordered  up  to  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  Yes,  my  lad,  you 
shall  go.  Get  ready,  and  I'll  send  you 
to-morrow.  No  danger  of  your  running 
away,  I  think?" 

"I  should  say  not,  sir,"  replied  Burt, 
proudly. 

"Illtrust  you,  anyway,  and  take  the 
responsibility.  The  Adjutant  will  give 
you  an  order  for  your  transportation. 
Go  to  Baltimore,  and  report  to  head- 
quarters there;  they'll  send  you  down  to 


the    Fortress    on  one    of   the   steamers. 
Good-by,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  Burt 
proudly  left  tiu  barracks  and  took  the 
train  for  New  York,  with  the  necessary 
papers  in  his  pocket,  his  roll  of  blankets, 
canteen  and  haversack.  On  the  day  next 
after  that,  he  was  on  the  train  speeding 
from  New  York  to  Philadelphia.  The 
people  whom  he  saw  on  the  cars  and  else- 
where seemed  much  excited,  and  from 
scraps  of  talk  that  he  heard  it  appeared 
that  something  very  grave  was  happening 
in  the  military  situation.  He  had  been 
quite  overjoyed  to  find  that  he  was  not 
to  go  away  doWn  to  Louisiana,  but  was 
to  serve  in  Virginia,  after  all;  but  every- 
body's anxiety  and  suspense  drove  these 
thoughts  out  of  his  head.  He  fell  in  with 
several  soldiers  returning  to  the  army 
from  sick  furloughs,  and  had  a  good  deal 
of  talk  with  them  about  the  service. 

The  demand  for  the  newspapers  was 
so  great  that  he  could  not  get  one;  but  a 
soldier  told  him  that  he  had  heard  there 
was  something  about  a  raid  of  the  Con- 
federates into  Maryland. 

The  train  reached  Philadelphia  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  Burt  fol- 
lowed his  new  friends  over  to  a  great 
building,  called  the  "Cooper  Shop," 
where  there  was  quite  a  crowd  of  soldiers 
on  their  way  to  the  front.  Here  all  were 
fed  to  their  satisfaction  on  very  good 
victuals,  and  then  Burt  walked  along 
the  streets  to  learn  the  news.  He  was 
not  long,  now,  in  finding  what  it  was. 
There  were  great  placards  announcing  it 
in  front  of  the  newspaper  offices,  and 
excited  knots  of  men  were  gathered  be- 
fore them  and  elsewhere,  discussing  it. 

He  learned  that  General  Early  had 
crossed  the  Potomac  above  Harper's 
Ferry  some  days  before,  and  was  march- 
ing on  Washington  with  twenty  thousand 
Confederate  veterans.  They  were  now 
between  Baltimore  and  Washington; 
railroads  and  telegraphs  between  those 
two  cities  were  entirely  interrupted. 
It  was  great  news,  indeed! 


CHAPTER  V.     • 

BURT    IS    GREATLY    SURPRISED. 

No  better  news  came  that  afternoon;  in 
fact,  it  was  worse  and  worse.  A  battle 
was  going  on,  the  telegraph  said,  at  Mo- 
nocacy  Junction,  near  Frederick;  the  Un- 
ion troops  were  being  whipped,  and  were 
retiring  toward  Baltimore,  while  the 
Confederates  were  pressing  for  Washing- 
ton. 

All  Baltimore  was  in  alarm,  almost  in  a 
panic;  the  "home-guards"  were  called 
out,  and  breastworks  w?re  being  thrown 


IS 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


up  outside  the  city  and  mounted  with 
guns. 

There  could  be  no  better  proof  that 
Burt  Carrier  was  a  soldier  at  heart  than 
the  fact  that  this  startling  and  rather 
gloomy  intelligence  filled  him  with  new 
eagerness  to  get  on,  to  reach  the  army, 
and  to  bear  his  part  with  others  in  the 
stern  work  of  war. 

That  evening  he  met  some  of  the  com- 
rades he  had  found  on  the  train,  at  the 
"  Cooper  Shop,"  and  talked  over  the  sit- 
uation with  them.  He  was  in  such  a 
feverish  state  of  mind  over  the  news  >that 
he  had  no  appetite;  he  could  only  drink 
some  coffee;  and  he  was  rather  surprised 
to  see  how  the  veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 
of  Gettysburg  and  the  Wilderness, 
among  whom  he  had  been  thrown,  con- 
sumed the  biscuit  and  butter,  ham,  and 
pork  and  beans,  with  pickles  and  coffee, 
that  the  patriotic  Philadelphia  people 
furnished  to  them  in  this  well-known 
soldiers'  free  restaurant. 

"Don't  they  have  any  pie?"  he  heard 
one  of  them  ask.  "Oh,  yes;  here  it  is. 
Let's  fill  up  on  it,  Joe;  maybe  it's  our  last 
chance." 

"  Won't  you  go  on  to-night?"  Burt 
asked. 

"  I  guess  not,"  replied  a  Corporal  of 
the  party.  "I'm  for  staying  here  till  we 
know  a  little  better  what's  going  on  be- 
low." 

"The  enemy  will  capture  Washing- 
ton!" cried  Burt. 

"  I  hope  not;  but  you  can't  help  it, 
sonny,  if  they  do.'' 

"We  can  get  nearer,  anyway,"  urged 
the  fervent  recruit,  "  so  as  to  be  of  some 
help." 

"We  might  get  to  Baltimore;  and  then 
what?  Twenty  thousand  of  General  Lee's 
best  troops  are  right  between  us  and 
Fortress  Monroe,  where  we  have  got  to 
go,  to  get  back  to  our  army.  There  is  no 
way  but  to  stay  right  here  and  take  it 
cool  till  the  situation  changes." 

"I  can't  be  easy,"  urged  Burt.  "I 
must  go  to  Baltimore,  anyway." 

The  veteran  bit  off  a  chew  of  tobacco 
and  shut  one  eye. 

"  Go  ahead,  then,  sonny!  If  old  Jubal 
Early  catches  you,  give  him  our  regards, 
and  tell  him  we  told  you  that  you  were  a 
fool!  Never  mind,  bub;  when  you've  seen 
something  of  the  service,  you'll  get  some 
of  this  '  freshness '  rubbed  off  from  you. 
By  by,  if  you  will  go." 

Nobody  likes  to  be  laughed  at,  and 
Burt  was  made  quite  angry  by  the  jeer- 
ing remarks  of  the  Corporal  and  the 
laughter  of  the  others.  He  left  them,  re- 
solved more  than  before  that  he  would 
get  to  Baltimore  just  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble.    He   went  straight  to   the   railroad  I 


station,  but  before  he  reached  it  the  night 
train  had  gone;  the  next  would  not  leave 
till  morning.  He  slept  that  night  in ,  a 
comfortable  bed,  not  knowing  when  he 
would  have  another  chance,  and  early 
in  the  morning  he  was  at  the  station 
again,  waiting  for  the  train.  He  asked 
for  the  news,  and  learned  that  there  was 
not  a  word  from  Washington;  that  our 
forces  had  been  defeated  at  Monocacy, 
and  that  the  excitement  and  alarm  in 
Baltimore  were  at  fever  heat.  Soon  our 
adventurer  was  on  the  train,  whirling 
away  toward  Wilmington  and  Balti- 
more. 

Events  were  to  happen  in  the  course  of 
a  very  few  hours  which  convinced  him 
that  the  Corporal  at  the  "Cooper  Shop" 
wtis  entirely  right  in  his  views,  and  that 
he,  Burt  Carrier,  was  quite  wrong-headed 
in  not  heeding  the  advice  of  older  and 
more  experienced  soldiers. 

And  yet,  looking  back  now  at  the  stir- 
ring incidents  of  that  day  and  those  that 
directly  followed,  he  has  never  regretted 
that  he  went  on  toward  Baltimore  on 
July  10,  1864! 


I  want  the  boys  who  have  thus  far  ac- 
companied Burt  Carrier  on  his  adven- 
tures to  understand  just  what  peril  it 
was  that  he  was  now  rushing  into,  with- 
out the  least  thought  of  danger.  For 
that  purpose,  I  would  like  to  have  them 
take  a  good  map  of  Maryland,  and  ex- 
amine the  northern  part  of  it  east  of  the 
Potomac. 

Between  Baltimore  and  the  Susque- 
hanna River  there  is  a  distance  of  about 
forty  miles.  This  is  the  region  of  tha 
head  of  Chesapeake  Bay;  it  is  very  near 
the  railroad  from  Baltimore  to  Havre  de 
Grace,  on  the  Susquehanna.  All  along 
this  route,  only  a  few  miles  apart,  are 
certain  streams,  called  rivers,  emptying 
into  the  bay.  They  are  not  rivers,  how- 
ever; they  are  simply  offshoots,  or  inden- 
tations of  the  bay,  although  they  extend 
miles  above  it.  The  water  in  them  is 
salty,  and  they  are  always  affected  by 
the  tides.  Some  of  them  are  quite  wide 
and  deep;  all  of  them  are  good  sized 
streams.  They  are  all  bridged  on  the 
line  of  the  railroad,  and  some  of  these 
bridges  are  quite  long.  The  longest  is 
at  Gunpowder  River,  so-called,  about 
half  way  from  Havre  de  Grace  to  Balti- 
more. The  railroad  station  at  Gunpow- 
der in  those  days  was  an  old  frame  house 
at  the  west  side  of  the  bridge;  there  was 
hardly  another  house  in  sight.  This  line 
of  railroad,  by  the  way,  was  the  chief 
means  of  communication  between  the 
north  and  Baltimore.  Early  in  the  war 
all   the   bridges  were  guarded  by  Union 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


18 


troops;  after  1862  the  Government  had 
not  thought  that  precaution  necessary. 

About  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning  of 
the  day  that  Burt  Carrier  left  Philadel- 
phia on  the  train,  a  company  of  at  least 
a  hundred  horsemen  galloped  down  to 
Gunpowder  Station  from  up  the  river. 
They  rode  good  horses;  they  were  dressed 
in  various  costumes;  some  in  gray,  some 
in  blue,  and  some  in  mixed  garments; 
they  wore  slouched-hats  and  straw-hats, 
and  were  armed  with  sabers,  pistols  and 
carbines.  They  were  dusty  and  dirty; 
but  spite  of  this,  and  their  odd  dresses, 
they  had  the  appearance  of  soldiers, 
mostly  because  they  moved  and  acted  so 
promptly. 

After  they  had  dismounted,  their  first 
move  was  to  send  their  horses  out  of 
sight,  under  charge  of  ten  of  their  num- 
ber. Then  the  inmates  of  the  old  house, 
and  every  person  in  sight,  was  arrested, 
in  order  to  prevent  an  alarm;  and  the 
raiders  concealed  themselves  from  sight 
by  lying  down  in  the  grass  along  the 
track. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  train  from  the  north.  Soon 
the  engine  and  cars  came  in  sight,  and 
rumbled  slowly  over  the  long  bridge.  A 
minute's  stop  at  Gunpowder  was  all  that 
was  allowed;  but  it  was  sufficient  for  the 
raiders.  Three  of  them  jumped  up  and 
boarded  the  engine,  and  their  pistols 
were  at  the  head  of  the  engineer  before 
he  could  guess  what  the  trouble  was. 
His  arms  were  bound  behind  him  with  a 
rope,  and  he  was  thrown  into  the  coal 
of  the  tender,  and  warned  to  stay  there. 
One  of  the  captors  of  the  engine  took'the 
place  of  the  engineer  at  the  lever.  He 
looked  back  and  saw  that  his  comrades 
were  boarding  the  train  at  each  platform; 
somebody  waved  his  hand  to  him  as  a 
signal,  which  he  understood,  for  he 
pulled  the  lever,  and  backed  the  train 
blowly  along  the  bridge  to  the  opposite 
side. 

The  raiders  swarned  through  the  train. 
Men  turned  pale,  and  women  screamed 
at  their  appearance,  for  all  understood 
what  it  meant.  Still,  nobody  was  hurt 
nor  insulted,  though  the  captors  carried 
eocked  pistols  in  their  hands,  and  warned 
all  to  be  quiet.  Each  Union  soldier 
whom  they  discovered,  at  least  a  dozen 
in  all,  was  ordered  to  get  up  and  follow 
them.  In  this  way  quite  a  party  of  cap- 
tives was  collected  on  the  east  side  of 
the  bridge,  and  under  the  orders  of  the 
raiders,  crossed  on  the  ties  to  the  west 
side. 

Burt  Carrier  was  among  the  captives. 
He  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  submit  to 
vrhat  he  could  not  help. 

Large  armfuls  of  dry  pine-wood  were 


carried  out  and  deposited  on  the  bridge. 
Fire  was  applied  in  several  places,  and 
soon  the  whole  structure  was  fiercely 
burning  and  smoking. 

There  was  a  medium-sized  man  with  a 
keen  eye  and  an  air  of  authority,  who 
walked  around  among  the  raiders,  and 
appeared  to  be  in  command  of  them. 

"Take  the  names  and  regiments  of 
these  men,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  officers, 
pointing  at  the  same  time  to  the  prison- 
ers. "Then  take  their  verbal  paroles. 
They  won't  dare  to  serve  again  till  ex 
changed.  Tell  them  that  any  of  them 
caught  breaking  his  parole  will  be 
hung.'' 

The  officer  to  whom  this  order  was 
given  went  to  work  to  execute  it.  In 
twenty  minutes  he  reported  to  his  com- 
mander again. 

"They  have  all  given  their  parole,  sir, 
but  one." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  one?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He's  very  obstinate. 
He  says  he  is  a  new  recruit;  I  reckon  he 
don't  know  what  he  doing." 

"Bring  him  here." 

Burt  Carrier  appeared,  guarded  by  two 
of  the  raiding  party.  The  commander 
eyed  him  curiously. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  "by 
refusing  to  give  your  parole?" 

Burt  was  troubled,  but  not  in  the  least 
frightened. 

"  They  told  me  I  must  promise  not  to 
fight  against  the  Southern  Confederacy 
till  I  was  exchanged. " 

"  Well— won't  you  do  that?'' 

"No,  sir." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  only  enlisted  a  few  weeks 
ago.  I'm  not  going  home  on  parole  the 
first  thing." 

"You're  not,  eh?  Rather  go  to  Libby 
Prison,  would  you?" 

Burt  was  silent.  He  had  heard  that 
name,  and  it  had  terrors  for  him;  but  he 
would  not  promise. 

"Cut  this  short,"  the  leader  harshly 
exclaimed.    "  Will  you  give  your  parole?'' 

"I  can't,  sir.     I " 

"That's  enough.  Corporal  Jenkins, 
put  him  on  that  spare  horse,  and  take 
charge  of  him.  Shoot  him  if  h<3  tries  ta 
escape.  Bugler,  sound  '  Boots  and  sad- 
dles."' 

At  the  call,  the  troopers  led  out  their 
horses  and  mounted  them.  The  leader 
gave  the  command,  "Fours  right,"  and 
led  the  column  up  the  river. 

Burt  Carrier,  riding  by  the  sid6  of  the 
Confederate  Corporal,  looked  back  be- 
fore the  column  had  lost  sight  of  Gun- 
powder Station.  He  saw  the  squad  of 
paroled  Union  prisoners  standing  by  the 
old    house.    Across    the   river   was   the 


14 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


train,  the  passengers  being  collected  on 
the  bank.  The  bridge  was  afire  in  its 
whole  length,  and  was  sure  of  destruc- 
tion. 

The  column  went  on  at  a  smart  trot. 
Burt  had  nearly  got  over  his  astonish- 
ment at  the  events  of  the  last  hour,  and 
his  curiosity  came  uppermost. 

"  1  don't  see  how  you  fellows  got  here," 
he  said,  hoping  to  open  the  way  to  a  con- 
versation with  the  Corporal.  The  latter 
was  a  serious-looking  man,  with  no  sug- 
gestion of  a  laugh  about  him,  and  a 
drawl  in  his  speech. 

"You  don't?  Well,  I  don't  wonder  at 
that.  Lot's  of  you  'uns  wouldn't  believe 
it  to-dav;  but  they'll  have  to,  to-morrow. 
Neat  job,  eh?" 

"  You  have  not  told  me  how  you  got 
here." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind!  When  General 
Early  crossed  the  Potomac,  we  just  bore 
off  to  the  east,  and  circled  round  Balti- 
more.   That  way  brought  us  here  to-day." 

"What  was  it  for?" 

"No  harm  in  tellin'  that;  you  might 
know,  as  well  as  I.  The  main  thing  was 
to  burn  that  bridge.  You  blue-coat  fel- 
lows only  hindered  us  so  much;  but  you 
had  to  be  took  care  of." 

"It  was  a  bold  and  daring  stroke," 
said  Burt,  speaking  as  he  felt,  though  to 
an  enemy. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  it  was  all  of  that.  But 
Harry  is  a  native  Marylander;  nobody 
knows  these  roads  better  than  he." 

"Who?"  Burt  asked. 

"Colonel  Harry  Gilmor,  our  leader. 
He's  a  regular  dare-devil." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FORTUNES   OF    A  PRISONER. 

For  three  days  and  nights,  with  only 
an  occasional  halt  for  rest,  sleep,  or  to 
procure  something  to  eat,  these  bold  par- 
tisans rode  their  way.  The  course  was 
at  first  westerly;  after  they  had  passed 
around  Baltimore,  so  near,  that  one  of 
the  troopers  pointed  out  to  Buvt  the 
spires  in  the  distance,  the  direction  was 
changed  to  one  southerly.  They  met  no 
Union  troops,  and  had  no  fears  of  meet- 
ing any,  as  the  leader  well  knew  that  all 
at  them  in  this  region  had  been  with- 
drawn upon  the  approach  of  Early's 
powerful  column.  But  Burt  noticed  with 
some  surprise  that  men  were  at  work  in 
the  fields,  and  that  the  people  were  pur- 
suing their  employments  much  the  same 
as  though  there  was  not  a  hostile  army 
in  their  State.  Quite  often  these  horse- 
men passed  men  in  the  door-yards  who 
waved  their  hats,  and  women  who  flut- 
tered their  handkerchiefs  from  the  doors 


and  windows,  in  token  of  sympathy;  and 
the  leader  seemed  to  know  exactly  where 
to  stop  for  the  refreshment  of  his  men. 
So  they  went  along,  much  of  the  time 
at  a  trot,  over  the  dusty  Maryland  roads, 
and  under  the  fierce  sun  of  that  trying 
season.  Burt  was  not  accustomed  to 
horses,  but  he  could  easily  see  that  these 
were  very  good  ones,  and  he  noticed  that 
their  riders  took  all  possible  care  of  them, 
though  they  compelled  them  to  travel 
fast.  The  horses'  mouths  and  noses  were 
sponged  at  every  halt,  and  the  good 
beasts  were  well  fed  and  watered. 

Burt  thought  a  good  deal  upon  his  sit' 
uation  during  the  first  day's  ride,  and 
wisely  concluded  that  his  chances  of  es- 
cape  would  be  better  if  he  should  at  first 
appear  to  be  perfectly  resigned  to  his 
fate,  and  carefully  watch  for  a 'good  op- 
portunity. So  he  rode  along  with  his 
guard,  trying  to  be  cheerful,  and  making 
the  best  of  the  situation. 

"You  'pear  to  take  it  very  cool,  for  a 
greenhorn,"  remarkeo  the  Corporal. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Burt.  "I  might  as 
well.  No  u«e  in  crying  over  spilt  milk, 
you  know." 

"That's  right.  No  very  fine  thing,  to 
go  to  Libby,  to  be  sure;  but  it  might  be 
worse." 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  get  me  to  Rich- 
mond ?" 

"That  is  not  my  lookout;  the  Colonel 
knows  what  he's  going  to  do  with  you.  I 
have  an  idea,  though." 

"What?" 
.  "No  harm  in  tellin1  you.  We're  on  the 
Rockville  road  now;  it  would  take  us 
straight  into  Washington  from  the  north, 
if  we  went  far  enough.  I  fancy  the  Col- 
onel will  go  on  till  he  meets  some  of  Gen- 
eral Early's  army;  then  he  can  learn  the 
news,  and  turn  you  over  to  them  at  the 
same  time." 

Burt  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

The  prospect  of  long  imprisonment  was 
getting  disagreeably  near. 

"  Do  you  think  Early  has  taken  Wash- 
ington?" he  asked. 

"  Of  course  he  has.  There  were  no 
troops  but  militia  and  hundred-day  men 
in  the  forts,  and  our  veterans  would  walk 
right  over  them.  We  may  get  near  enough 
to  see  the  Stars  and  Bars  floating  from 
the  Capitol." 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  our  hero 
heard  this  prediction;  but  he  remem- 
bered that  ft  was  made  by  an  enemy,  and 
remained  hopeful.  As  the  Corporal  be- 
came more  talkative,  he  told  Burt  many 
of  his  adventures  and  daring  escapes  in 
the  war. 

"We  are  great  fellows  for  scouting 
around,  and  picking  up  the  news  about 
your  people,"  he  said. 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


15 


"  What  way  do  yon  take  to  do  that?" 

"A  good  man y  way  s.  One  of  my  favor- 
ite ones  is  to  put  on  a.  blue  overcoat,  mix 
with  the  Federal  cavalry,  sometimes  rid- 
ing all  night  with  them,  and  talking  with 
them.  In  this  way  I  have  often  learned 
all  about  the  column  then  on  the  march; 
and  taking  some  good  chance  to  steal 
away,  I  would  give  our  folks  the  news  in 
an  hour.1' 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
done  anything  as  bold  and  dangerous  as 
thaU"  Burt  exclaimed. 

"Indeed  I  have;  as  many  as  half  a 
dozen,  times." 

"Wouldn't  our  people  hang  you  for  a 
spy  if  they  caught  you  at  it?" 

"Like  enough,"  replied  the  Corporal 
carelessly.  "But  they'd  have  to  catch 
me  first.'-' 

The  wide  Potomac  was  in  sight,  when 
a  cloud  of  dust  was  seen  far  down  the 
road.  The  little  column  halted,  and  a 
man  was  dispatched  to  reconnoiter.  He 
returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  news 
that  it  was  an  advance  party  of  Early's 
army,  driving  cattle  into  Virginia  for  the 
use  of  the  Confederates. 

"  Who  did  you  see?"  asked  G-ilmor. 

"The  Lieutenant  in  command." 

"What  did  he  say  about  the  cam- 
paign?" 

"That  parts  of  the  Sixth  and  Nine- 
teenth Corps  reached  Washington  in 
time  to  save  it.  There  was  severe  fight- 
ing in  front  of  the  city  yesterday,  but 
Early  is  retreating  to-day." 

"  The  devil!  Then  I've  got  to  get  over 
into  the  Valley  ahead  of  him,  and  send 
the  news  to  Richmond.  Where's  that 
fellow  we  took"  from  Gunpowder?" 

"  Here,  sir." 

"We  can't  be  bothered  with  him  any 
longer;  we've  enough  to  see  to  without 
him  hanging  on  us.  Corporal,  take  him 
and  deliver  him  to  that  Lieutenant,  and 
then  rtdoin  ns  up  the  road  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible." 

It  was  a  queer  change  in  Burt's  fort- 
unes; almost  a  laughable  one,  if  he  could 
have  forgotten  that  he  was  now  headed 
for  the  enemy's  country  in  earnest. 

Upon  being  delivered  to  the  Lieutenant 
in  command,  he  was  told  to  get  a  stick 
and  help  drive  the  cattle,  and  was  warned, 
with  some  emphatic  oaths,  that  he  would 
be  certainly  shot  if  he  tried  to  escape. 
The  drove  was  at  least  five  hundred  in 
number,  and  was  being  urged  forward 
with  shouts  and  blows  by  about  twenty 
Confederate  soldiers,  some  mounted,  and 
some  afoot.  Burt  saw  Gilmor's  cavalry 
disappearing  in  the  distance;  right  be- 
fore hint  was  White's  Ford  of  the  Po- 
tomac, across  which  the  drove  was  to  be 
taken.     It  seemed  to  him' that  his  ehance 


for  escape  must  be  much  better  now  than 
before;  and  still  keeping  heart,  he  bran- 
ished  his  stick  and  shouted  with  the 
others,  as  the  mixed  procession  came  to 
the  river. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    DASH    FOR    LIBERTY. 

Burt  was  not  so  distressed  by  the 
gravity  of  his  own  situation  but  that  he 
could  take  in  the  unusual  aspect  of  the 
scene  before  and  around  him.  The  road 
led  down  td  the  river,  here  a  third  of  a 
mile  wide,  as  it  flowed  between  the  Mary- 
land and  Virginia  hills.  At  this  season  the 
water  was  knee-deep  at  this  ford,  and 
the  cattle  were  urged  in  with  all  speed. 

The  Lieutenant  in  command  had  been 
ordered  to  keep  at  least  half  a  day's 
march  ahead  of  Early's  army,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  do  it.  As  cattle  and  men 
were  all  in  the  water  together,  the  scenes 
wen  often  exciting,  and  sometimes  laugh- 
able. 

The  current  was  rather  swift,  the  bot- 
tom stony,  and  there  was  an  occasional 
hole  into  which  a  man  might  sink  up  to 
his  neck. 

Shouts,  yells,  oaths,  splashing.flounder-' 
ing  and  mirth  all  accompanied  the  drove 
and  th    drovers  across  the  river. 

Out  of  the  water  on  the  other  side,  and 
up  th  bank,  the  party  went  steadily  on. 
Burt  asked  leave  to  stop,  empty  the 
water  from  his  shoes,  and  wring  out  his 
socks;  but  he  was  bluntly  refused. 

"  I  reckon  you  can  stand  it,  if  we  'uns 
can," said  the  Lieutenant. 

Onward  toiled  men  and  cattle  that  af- 
ternoon, leaving  the  river  far  behind. 
Burt  knew  from  the  position  of  the  sun 
that  the  direction  was  something  north 
of  west,  and  from  his  knowledge  of  ereog- 
graphy  he  thought  that  the  Blue  Ridge 
could  not  be  more  than  a  day  or  two's 
march  in  that  direction.  He  tried  to  en- 
gage some  of  the  soldiers  in  conversation, 
but  found  them  glum  and  cross. 

Thore  was  reason  enough  for  that,  as 
he  found  out  at  a  later  day,  from  his  own 
experience.  They  had  marched  hundreds 
of  miles,  from  Richmond  to  Harper's 
Ferry,  and  from  there  to  Washington,  in 
heat  and  dust,  and  had  fought  severe 
battles  at  Monocacy,  and  in  front  of 
Washington.  They  were  worn  out  in 
body,  with  ragged  clothes  and  broken 
shoes,  some  with  no  shoes  at  all;  and  they 
would  have  liked  to  lie  right  down  there 
in  the, road  and  sleep  twelve  hours. 

Nothing  but  discipline  and  the  habit  of 
obedience  keot  them  to  their  duty;  as  it 
was,  two  of  them  fell  out  during  the  af- 
ternoon, declaring  to  the  officer  that  they 


16 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


were  too  exhausted  to  stir  another  step. 
After  some  urging  and  threatening,  he 
told  them  to  rest  themselves  and  over- 
take the  party  when  they  could,  if  they 
were  not  sooner  overtaken  by  the  retreat- 
ing army. 

But  although  his  captors  would  not 
talk  to  him,  they  said  a  great  deal  among 
themselves,  which  Burt  overheard.  He 
learned  that  they  were  going,  that  he 
was  going,  through  Snicker's  Gap  into 
the  Shenandoah  Valley,  and  from  there 
up  toward  Petersburg. 

He  remembered  the  location  of  that 
town  on  the  war-maps;  he  thought  it 
was  somewhere  near  the  railroad  by 
which  he  might   be  taken  to  Richmond. 

He  thought,  too,  that  if  he  did  not  es- 
cape before  the  mountains  were  crossed, 
he  would  not  be  likely  to  escape  at  all. 
Very  sober  and  tormenting  thoughts  had 
Bart  Carrier,  as  he  trudged  along  that 
July  afternoon  after  the  cattle,  among 
the'Confederate  soldier-drivers  afoot  and 
on  horseback.  It  would  be  a  mortifying 
end  of  all  his  bright  dreams  of  a  soldier's 
life  and  experience.  It  was  almost  too 
bitter  to  think  of!  Captured  by  the  ene- 
my before  he  had  seen  the  Union  army, 
and  put  in  a  far-distant  prison,  perhaps 
to  remain  there  till  the  war  closed!  The 
thought  nerved  him  for  a  desperate  at- 
tempt. 

Near  sunset  the  Lieutenant  ordered  a 
halt-home's  rest.  The  cattle  were  herded 
together  by  the  roadside,  the  men  lay  or 
sat  down,  and  ate  some  of  the  good  pro- 
vender they  had  taken  from  Maryland 
farm-houses.   ' 

There  was  a  brook  near  by,  where  men 
and  cattle  drank,  and  where  the  former 
bathed  their  sore  and  aching  feet. 

The  prisoner  was  given  some  corn- 
bread.  As  he  ate  it,  he  saw  the  Lieuten- 
ant dismount  near  him  and  look  at  him 
fixedly. 

"  I  wish  Harry  GKluior  would  keep  his 
prisoners  to  himself,"  he  said,   "  and  not 

bother    me    with  them.     You  Yank ■ 

what's  your  name?" 

Burt  told  him,  and  in  answer  to  more 
questions,  gave  a  brief  history  of  him- 
self. 

"  Well,  you  did  make  a  mess  of  it!"  ob- 
served the  officer,  grimly.  "Why  didn't 
you  take  the  parole  Grilmor  offered  you?" 

"Because  I  wasn't  willing  to  promise 
not  to  bear  arms  for  the  Union  till  ex- 
changed. I  was  afraid  I  might  not  be 
exchanged  till  the  war  was  over." 

"  Oho!    Thought  you  might  escape?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  frank  reply.  "I  did 
think  that." 

"Well,  then,  we  must  look  sharply  to 
you.  you  young  Yankee  snipe.  I  didn't 
want"  you  at  all;  but  now  I've  got  you, 


all  shan't  get    you  away  from  me. 

You're  going  right  along  to  Richmomd, 
and  I'll  see  you  don't  have  any  chance 
to  cut  for  it.  R}*nes,  ho  there!  Have 
you  got  a  coil  of  rope  in  your  saddle^ 
pocket?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tie  one  end  of  it  to  the  saddle-ring, 
and  the  other  end  around  this*  Yank. 
We  must  fix  him  so  he  won't  slip  away 
after  dark.  You'll  be  responsible  for 
him  showing  up  in  the  morning,  Rynes.'* 

The  Lieutenant  had  moved  a  few  feet 
away  from  his  horse,  and  was  lighting 
his  pipe.  The  horse  was  cropping  the 
grass,  the  bridle  being  thrown  over  his 
neck. 

The  soldier  to  whom  the  order  had 
been  given  had  found  the  rope,  tied  one 
end  to  his  saddle,  and  was  approach- 
ing the  prisoner  to  tie  the  other  end  about 
him. 

With  a  rush,  Burt  Carrier  was  by  the 
Lieutenant's  horse.  His  foot  was  in  the 
stirrup,  his  hand  was  on  the  bridle;  he 
was  mounted  before  the  astonished  Con- 
federates could  raise  a  hand. 

But  the  officer  was  prompt.  He  drew 
his  revolver,  and  covered  Burt  with  it. 

"  Halt,  there!"  he  shouted. 

Burt  lowered  his  face  down  into  the 
horse*s  mane,  and  struck  him  smartly  on 
the  flanks  with  his  stick. 

The  animal  bolted  into  the  woods, 
while  the  bullets  from  the  officer's  revol- 
ver whistled  overhead. 

"Shoot  him!  After  him!"  yelled  thq 
Lieutenant. 

A  dropping  volley  of  musket  balls  waa 
fired  into  the  woods,  and  several  of  the 
mounted  men  spurred  in  pursuit.  The 
cattle,  frightened  by  the  cries  and  noise 
of  fire-arms,  plunged  and  bellowed,  and 
it  required  much  effort  to  keep  them  to- 
gether. 

In  half  an  hour  the  pursuers  returned. 
They  reported  that  they  could  find  noth- 
ing of  the  fugitive.  And  the  Lieuten- 
ant, enraged  by  the  loss  of  both  his  horse 
and  his  prisoner,  gave  the  command  to 
move  on. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  DESPERATE   RESOLVE. 

The  escape  of  our  young  soldier  was 
due  to  his  own  promptness,  and  to  the 
speed  of  the  animal  that  he  took  in  his 
unceremonious  flight. 

The  Confederate  Lieutenant  had  a 
good  eye  for  a  horse,  and  on  the  way 
from  the  defenses  of  Washington  to  the 
Potomac  he  had  impressed  as  good  a  one 
as  he  could  And,  for  his  own  use.  It 
was,  in  fact,  a  very  good  one,  and  came 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


u 


near  being  a  thoroughbred;  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  far  better  horse  than  any  other 
in  this  party. 

When,  therefore,  by  his  quick  audacity, 
Burt  had  mounted  the  animal  and  put 
him  to  his  paces,  and  had  escaped  injury 
from  the  bullets  of  his  captors,  his  es- 
cape from  this  party  was  really  assured. 

Only  two  or  three  blows  from  his  stick 
were  needed;  the  spirited  animal  tore 
thorugh  the  woods  in  a  kind  of  cart-path 
that  traversed  them  at  this  place,  until  a 
lane  beyond  was  reached.  There  was  a 
gate  between,  which  was  cleared  at  a  Hy- 
ing leap.  Burt  was  not  much  of  a  horse- 
man, as  we  have  seen;  but  he  was  wise 
enough  in  this  situation  to  let  the  horse 
go,  and  cling  to  the  saddle.  He  never 
saw  the  pursuing  horsemen  at  all,  so 
swift  was  his  pace.  The  horse  went  like 
the  wind  down  the  lane  for  a  third  of  a 
mile,  leaped  another  gate  into  a  high- 
way, and  went  along  this  road  at  a  full 
gallop  for  twenty  minutes. 

Then  Burt  pulled  up,  and  began  to 
consider. 

The  first  glow  of  triumph  in  his  escape 
was  vanishing,  as  he  thought  of  the  diffi- 
culties of  his  situation.  He  had  escaped 
from  his  captors,  it  was  true;  but  he  was 
in  the  enemy's  country,  and  likely  to  be 
recaptured  at  any  moment. 

The  roads  to  the  Potomac  must  be  al- 
ready occupied  by  Early's  retreating 
army;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  get 
back  to  Maryland.  To  keep  on  west- 
Ward  would  be  quite  as  dangerous,  for 
he  would  be  only  plunging  deeper  into 
the  enemy's  country. 

To  ride  northerly  toward  Harper's 
Ferry  would  be  full  of  peril;  he  had  read 
enough  of  the  war  to  know  that  this 
region  was  alive  with  Mosby's  guerrillas, 
and  that  he  would  most  likely  be  taken 
again  ere  he  had  accomplished  half  a 
dozen  miles. 

In  this  apparently  hopeless  situation, 
he  resolved  upon  the  only  course  that 
seemed  to  promise  any  hope. 

The  people  of  this  region  were,  of 
course,  friendly  to  the  Confederacy,  but 
perhaps  the  negroes  were  loyal.  He  had 
read  and  heard  much  about  the  negroes 
aiding  Union  soldiers  to  escape,  and  he 
thought  he  would  now  put  it  to  the  test, 
since  he  had  no  otbjer  hope. 

He  stopped  his  horse  and  looked  about 
him.  The  sun  had  set,  but  there  was  a 
long  twilight  at  that  season  of  the  year, 
and  he  was  able  to  distinguish  all  about 
him.  There  was  an  open  stretch  of  road, 
bordered  here  and  there  with  trees;  a 
little  way  off  was  a  frame  house  set  back 
from  the  road,  with  a  barn  and  out- 
houses back  of  it. 

Any  one  who  knew  anything  of  Vir- 


ginia life  and  customs  would  have  said 
that  this  was  a  plantation  of  what  might 
be  called  the  middle  class. 

An  old  negro  came  shuffling  along  the 
road  with  a  bag  over  his  shoulder.  Burt 
halted  him  without  any  ceremony.  The 
old  man  took  off  his  battered  hat,  and 
began  to  beg: 

"Why,  Massa  Sojer,  you  wouldn't  done 
hurt  old  Epraim  Snowball?  I'se  nebber 
hurt  yo\  An'  you  wears  de  blue  coat! 
Why,  I  habn't  seen  any  ob  dem  about 
here  fer  eber  so  long." 

"I  don't  want  to  harm  you,"  said  Burt. 
"  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Don't  you  love 
the  Union  and  Union  soldiers?" 

"Why,  yes,  young  Massa.  But  we  has 
to  be  mighty  careful  'bout  dat,  now,  I 
tells  yo!" 

"Who  lives  in  that  house  over  there?" 

"Dat's  where  I  lib.  Dat's  de  Wemple 
plantation.  Dey  had  lots  ob  cullud  folks 
dah  befo'  de  wah;  but  dey  hab  runoff 
lately,  so  my  ole  Susannah  and  I'  is  all 
dat  is  left  to  take  care  ob  pretty  young 
Missy." 
■  "Whose  place  is  it?" 

"Massa  Grove  Wemple's,  sah;  but  he 
done  killed  ober  at  Bull  Run— oh,  he  was 
a  stiff  Rebel,  now,  I  tells  yo'!— an'  Missy 
Wemple  died  ob  grief,  an'  de  boys  all 
done  gone  an'  'listed  in  de  Confederacy— 
so  now  dere's  no  one  left  but  nice  young 
Missy  Grace  Wemple,  an'  me  an'  Susan- 
nah to  take  care  ob  her." 

"  Is  your  young  mistress  for  the  Rebel- 
lion?" 

"Golly,  yes,  Massa  Sojer.  She  hates 
all  de  blue  sojers." 

"See  here,  Uncle  Ephraim— I  might  as 
well  tell  you  that  I  have  just  escaped 
from  the  Confederates.  They'll  be  look- 
ing for  me  soon.  Can't  you  hide  me 
somewhere?" 

"I'd  like  to,  young  Sojer-Massa;  Eph- 
raim likes  de  Linkum  sojers  powerful 
well;  but  he's  only  a  pore,  old  cullud 
pusson.     He's  afraid " 

"Well,  I  understand.  I  won't  ask  you 
to  put  yourself  in  peril  for  me.  Take  me 
to  Miss  Grace.  I'll  throw  myself  on  her 
mercy." 

The  old  negro's  eyes  dilated  with  terror 
in  the  dim  light. 

"  Why,  Lawd  Gawd,  young  Massa  Sojer 

yo'  be  careful   what  yo'  do!     She's 

proper  nice  gal— but  she's  a  drefful 
Rebel." 

"There's  no  other  way  left  to  me, 
Uncle.  There  are  enemies  on^every  side 
of  me,  and  I've  got  to  trust  somebody. 
I'd  rather  trust  a  woman  than  a  man, 
where  both  are  enemies.  I  can't  get  to 
the  Union  lines  without  help;  and  until  I 
can  get  there,  I've  got  to  be  hid  some- 
where.    If  a  woman  will  betray  me,  so  be 


18 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


it;  I  have  no  other  hope.     Take  me  to 
her,  at  once." 

Burt  had  really  brought  himself  into 
the  frame  of  mind  that  he  expressed  to 
the  negro.  Realizing  the  dangers  that 
menaced  him  on  every  side,  he  saw  no 
possible  chance  for  him  to  get  himself 
concealed  somewhere  until  he  could  reach 
the  Union  lines.  And  the  resolution  to 
go  to  the  young  and  fair  occupant  of  the 
house  nearest  him,  and  to  appeal  to  her 
womanly  pity,  came  of  a  sudden  impulse. 
He  must  do  something  immediately,  for 
he  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  would 
be  closely  searched  after.  He  saw  no 
way  but  this. 

"  Lead  on,  Uncle!"  he  said. 

The  negro  conducted  him  through  a 
large  gateway,  up  a  carriage  road,  to  the 
front  of  the  house.  Darkness  had  now 
set  in,  and  the  inmates  of  the  house,  hear- 
ing the  noise  of  hoofs  and  gravel,  came 
out  on  the  porch  with  a  light,  to  see  what 
was  the  matter.  Burt,  sitting  on  the 
horse,  saw  a  charming  girl  of  sixteen, 
bearing  a  lamp,  while  an  old  negress 
shrank  behind  her. 

"  Snowball,  what  does  this  mean?" 
asked  the  girl,  in  clear  and  firm  tones. 
"Who  is  this  with  you?" 

Burt  spoke  up  for  himseU. 

"Miss,"  I  am  a  Union  soldier.  I  was 
taken  prisoner  a  few  days  ago  in  Mary- 
land, and  have  just  made  my  escape.  I 
don't  know  where  to  go;  I  am  likely  to  be 
captured  again.  Will  you  not  shelter  me 
— hide  me,  if  necessary?" 

"You  have  come  to  the  wrong  place," 
she  promptly  answered.  "  I  have  no  love 
for  Union  soldiers.  I  don't  like  their 
cause.  They  killed  my  father  at  Bull 
Run;  my  brothers  are  fighting  against 
the  Union.  You  had  better  not  come 
here." 

Her  tone  was  forbidding,  as  well  as  her 
words. 

But  Burt  saw  her  face,  and  was  encour- 
aged.        , 


CHAPTER  I&. 

DANGER    AND    DELIVERANCE. 

"  I  don't  expect  we  can  agree  about  the 
war,  Miss,"  said  Burt.  'You  look  at  it 
from  your  part  of  the  country  and  your 
feelings,  and  I  from  mine.  But  I  suppose 
that  if  one  of  your  brothers  was  in  the 
same  situation  that  I  am  in  now,  and  was 
trying  tc^find  refuge  and  protection,  in 
Pennsylvania,  say,  you'd  hope  he  would 
succeed — wouldn't  you?" 

The  girl  was  silent. 

"  Of  coarse,  we  are  enemies,  as  this 
land  is  unhappily  divided.  But  I  don't 
feel  any  hatred  toward  you,  personally; 


it  can't  be  possible  that  you  feel  any  to- 
ward me.  I  don't  believe  you  would  like 
to  see  me  shut  up  in  Libby  Prison  for 
months  or  years,  any  more  than  I  would 
like  to  see  one  of  your  brothers  confined 
at  Elmira  or  Johnson's  Island.  Would 
you,  now?" 

"Oh,  Missy,  do  help  de  pore  Linkum 
sojer!"  Snowball  put  in. 

"Yes,  Missy  Grace,  please  do!"  added 
Susannah. 

Burt  saw  a  decided  softening  of  the 
girl's  face. 

"  You  may  come  in,"  she  said. 

The  soldier  sprang  from  his  horse,  and 
handed  the  bridle  to  the  negro. 

'*  Take  him  two  or  three  miles,  and 
turn  him  loose,  Snowball,"  he  said. 
'"Don't  put  him  in  your  stables,  tq  betray 
me  by  his  presence." 

"  I'll  'tend  to  dat,  Massa  Sojer,"  the 
negro  joyfully  exclaimed. 

And  while  he  led  away  the  horse,  Burt 
was  received  into  the  house. 

Aunt  Susannah  busied  herself  to  pre- 
pare a  good  supper.  While  she  was  at 
this  good  work  in  the  kitchen,  our  hero 
sat  in  the  room  into  which  he  had  been 
received,  looking  rather  awkwardly  at 
his  fair  young  hostess,  and  trying  to 
think  of  something  to  say  to  her. 

She  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room,  as  pretty  a  picture,  Burt  thought, 
with  her  blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  regular 
features,  and  comely  figure  and  dress,  as 
he  had  ever  seen. 

"  Y'ou  are  very  kind  to  me,  Miss,"  he  at 
last  ventured. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  am  doing  right,"  she 
replied,  rather  tartly.  "  The  idea  of  my 
sheltering  a  Yankee!" 

"  Would  you  have  felt  right  if  you  had 
turned  me  away?" 

She  was  silent. 

"  I  really  hope  you  won't  be  sorry  for 
your  kindness  to  me,  Miss." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  can't  forget  my  poor  father,  and 
the  cause  he  died  fighting  for.  But 
then " 

Burt  thought  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
pity  and  compassion  in  her  melting  blue 
eyes,  as  she  looked  at  him. 

Old  Susannah  brought  in  an  excellent 
supper,  with  nice  "chicken-fixings,"  to 
which  our  hero  did  ample  justice. 

During  the  meal  he  continued  to  talk 
to  Grace,  and  succeeded  in  getting  some 
answers  from  her. 

Hardly  was  the  table  cleared,  when  a 
tramping  of  horses  was  heard  about  the 
house. 

'To'  God!"  the  old  negress  cried. 
"  Dere's  Mosby's  men!" 

Burt  started  up.  Grace  turned  pale, 
and  then  exclaimed: 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


19 


"Here!    Quick!     Go  in  here." 

She  threw  open  the  door  of  a  large  china 
closet,  and  poshed  him  into  it.  Then 
she  shut  the  door  and  locked  it. 

In  three  minutes  the  room  was  filled 
with  men  in  gray,  armed  with  sabers  and 
pistols. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Weniple," 
said  the  Captain,  "Has  a  Yankee  been 
here?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "I  gave  him 
something  to  eat,  for  he  was  so  hungry; 
and  left  as  much  as  an  hour  ago." 
•  "Strange!"  said  the  Captain.  "We 
found  his  horse  off  here  in  the  woods. 
He  can't  be  far  away." 

Souie  of  the  guerrillas  were  prying 
about  the  room.  Grace  spoke  with  a 
good  deal  of  temper. 

"  I  did  not  expect  such  an  insult  as  this 
from  you,  Captain  Usher.  You  know  in y 
sentiments,  and  you  know  where  my 
kindred  are.  Pray,  do  you  want  to 
search  this  house  for  hidden  Yankees?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Wemple. 
Perhaps  we  have  been  led  too  far  by  our 
anxiety  to  retake  this  Yankee.  Ho,  of 
course  we  would  not  suspect  you.  Come 
away,  there,  men;  get  out  to  your  horses, 
and  mount.  We'll  run  the  fellow  down 
soon." 

Grace  took  his  offered  hand,  with  a 
smile. 

When  the  tramp  of  the  horses  had  died 
away  in  the  distance  she  unlocked  the 
door  of  the  closet,  and*Burt  stepped  out. 
With  such  feelings  as  may  better  be 
imagined  than  described  he  had  listened 
to  this  conversation,  and  now  greeted 
Grace  with  an  emotion  that  he  did  not  try 
to  suppress. 

"You  .are  my  preserver,''  he  cried. 
"You  have  saved  me  from  dreadful  cap- 
tivity. Believe  me,  Miss,  if  I  escape  the 
perils  of  this  war.  there  is  nothing  that 
I  will  not  try  to  do  for  you.     I  will " 

In  his  warmth  he  was  approaching  her, 
holding  out  both  hands.  But  she  folded 
her  arms  and  looked  coldly  at  him. 

"I  have  been  false  to  my  cause  in  hid- 
ing and  protecting  you,"  she  said.  "I 
blame  myself  for  being  so  weak.  Don't 
say  any  more  to  me.  Susannah  will  take 
care  of  you.  I  don't  want  to  see  you 
a;-rain.     Farewell!" 

She  left   him  when    she  had  spoken. 

Glad,  and  yet  sad,  Burt  submitted  him- 
self to  the  direction  of  the  old  negress, 
who  took  him  up  to  an  upper  chamber, 
where,  for  the  next  two  days,  he  was 
carefully  secluded.  His  food  was  brought 
to  him  there,  and  there  he  remained,  day 
and  night,  waiting  for  the  wished-for 
chance  to  seek  the  Union  lines. 

On  the  day  next  following  his  intro- 
duction to    the  house,   the  old  negress 


came  to  him  and  told  him   that  he  must 
go  up  into  the  garret. 

"^Missy  Grace  says  so,"  she  explained. 
"De  whole  Rebel  army  am  gain'  by  on 
dis  yere  road.  Some  ob  dem  might  come 
in  yere." 

From  the  garret  window  Burt  peered 
out,  and  saw  brigade  after  brigade  of 
Early's  army  marching  past.  Dusty  and 
ragged  as  they  were,  all  were  veteran 
soldiers  with  arms;  and  the  sight,  such  a 
one  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  gave 
him  a  new  glimpse  of  war.  There  were 
batteries  of  artillery,  and  cavalry;  there 
were  waving  banners  and  shining  mus- 
ket-barrels. Buit  began  to  understand 
what  fighting  would  mean,  when  such 
soldiers  got  into  it. 

When  the  Confederate  host  had  passed 
by,  he  was  taken  back  to  his  room.  That 
night  he  enjoyed  a  comfortable  bed  for  the 
last  time  in  several  months.  The  next 
morning,  shortly  after  the  old  negress 
had  brought  him  his  breakfast,  she  came 
running  in,  all  out  of  breath. 

"Oh,  young  Massa  Sojer!  De  Linkum 
sojers  are  a-comin',  suah!"  she  cried. 

He  ran  to  the  front  room,  and  looked 
from  the  window.  It  was  true;  a  large 
body  of  cavalry  in  blue  was  passing,  and 
fcr  a  long  way  back  the  road  was  filled 
with  blue-coated  infantry,  swinging 
along  at  the  route-step,  with  "arms  at 
will." 

The  boy's  heart  swelled  at  the  sight; 
he  was  about  to  hasten  to  theni,  when  he 
thought  of  Grace.  He  turned  to  ask  old 
Susannah  for  her,  when  he  saw  her  stand- 
ing near  him. 

"There  are  my  friends,  Miss,"  he  said. 
"  I  must  go  with  them." 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

Burt  noticed  that  her  pretty  face  was 
quite  serious;  it  did  not  look  at  all  angry. 

"You  have  done  me  a  very  great  ser- 
vice," he  continued.  "I  cannot  repay 
you  now;  but  I  hope  to  some  day,  if  God 
spares  my  life  through  the  war."  I  shall 
never  forget  you.  Shall  we  not  part 
friends?" 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  did  not 
refuse  to  take  it.  Although  she  said  very 
little,  he  thought  she  looked  kind  at  him, 
and  a  little  sorry  that  he  was  going. 

What  he  did  next  was  quite  natural, 
under  the  circumstances;  at  all  events, 
he  felt  that  he  must  doit.  He  put  his 
arm  around  her  neck,  and  kissed  her. 

She  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  out 
of  the  room,  and  he  left  the  house  in 
rather  a  more  serious  mood  than  he  was 
in  three  minutes  before;  while  Snowball 
and  Susannah  shouted  after  him,  "  Good 
luck,  Massa  Sojer." 

Regiment  after  regiment  was  marching 
by  as  he  stood  at  the  gate,  when  a  staff- 


20 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


officer  rode  up  and  asked  him  where  his 
musket  was,  and  why  he  was  not  in  the 
ranks.  In  a  very  few  words  Burt  told 
him  his  story. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  you're  in  luck  at  last," 
said  the  officer.  "This  is  the  First  Di- 
vision of  the  Nineteenth  Corps;  yonder 
comes  the  Twenty-ninth  Maine.  Fall  in 
with  them;  I'll  speak  to  the  Colonel 
about  you." 

To  his  great  joy,  Burt  recognized  in  the 
ranks  three  or  four  lumbermen  he  had 
known  up  the  Penobscot. 

A  hearty  soldier's  welcome  was  given 
him. 

It  happened  that  several  men  in  this 
regiment  had  fallen  out  from  heat  and 
fatigue,  and  were  riding  in  the  ambu- 
lance; one  of  them  was  reported  suffer- 
ing from  sunstroke,  and  likely  die. 

At  the  next  halt  for  rest  the  arms  and 
accouterments  of  this  unfortunate  soldier 
were  brought  to  Burt,  and  his  new  com- 
rades helped  him  to  adjust  them.  His 
blankets,  haversack  and  canteen  had 
been  taken  from  him  by  the  guerrillas  at 
Gunpowder  River;  he  was  told  that  the 
Quartermaster  would  issue  new  ones  to 
his  Captain  for  him  that  night. 

He  put  on  the  belt  with  its  plate  in 
in  front,  marked  "  TJ.  S.,"  the  cap-pouch 
in  front  at  the  right,  the  cartridge-box, 
containing  forty  rounds  of  cartridges, 
also  stamped  "U.  S.,"  over  his  right  hip, 
and  the  bayonet-sheath  at  the  left;  he 
took  the  good  Springfield  rifle-musket, 
weighing  sixteen  pounds,  and  carrying  a 
pointed    ounce-ball    that   would  kill  at 

eight  hundred  yards and  Burt  Carrier 

at  last  began  to  look  like  a  soldier! 

Presently  the  bugle  sounded  "Atten- 
tion!" then  "Forward!"  and  the  long 
column  moved  on. 

Burt  noticed  that  the  soldiers,  al- 
though formed  in  fours,  spread  out  for 
greater  comfort,  and  filled  the  entire 
roadway,  marching  without  time  or  reg- 
ular step,  and  each  man  carrying  his 
musket  as  he  pleased. 

"Why,  is  this  the  way  you  do?"  he 
asked  of  the  man  who  marched  at  his 
right.  "I  thought  it  was  more  regular 
than  this." 

The  soldier  smiled  grimly. 

"  When  you've  marched  twenty  miles 
on  such  a  day  as  this,  my  boy,"  he  re- 
plied, "you'll  think  this  way  is  'regular' 
enough  for  you." 

Just  then  a  staff-officer  came  riding 
down  the  column,  speaking  to  each  regi- 
mental commander.  Then  the  order 
came,  repeated  by  each  Captain,  "Close 
up— four  fours — guide  left,"  and  the 
column  came  together  in  precise  and  reg- 
ular order.  At  the  head  of  each  regi- 
ment the  drum  began  to  tap  for  the  step. 


"What's  up,  now,  I  'wonder?"  Burt'a 
comrade  said,  and  then  replied  to  his 
own  question:  "Oh,  I  see;  there's  Lees- 
burg,  just  ahead;  we're  going  to  inarch 
through  in  style.  That's  what  we  usu- 
ally do  when  we  come  to  a  Southern 
town." 

Twenty  martial  bands  burst  forth  with 
the  stirring  music  of  "  Rally  Round  the 
Flag." 

"Right  shoulder   shift arms!"1  was 

the  order,  repeated  down  the  column; 
the  flags  blew  out,  the  fifes  and  drums 
screamed  and  rattled,  and  the  soldiers, 
the  way-worn  and  weary,  stepped  out  in 
time. 

Through  Leesburg  they  went,  the 
streets  of  which  town  were  deserted 
by  the  people,  who  looked  out  through 
closed  w.indow-shutters. 

Burt  Carrier  felt  proud  and  almost 
happy  in  that  hour;  he  was  with  his  com- 
rades, in  his  right  place,  and  was  at  last 
a  soldier  in  earnest! 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  SOLDIER    IN    EARNEST. 

It  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  describe 
all  of  Burt  Carrier's  experiences  in  the 
war  from  the  day  when  he  finally  joined 
his  regiment,  down  to  the  close  of  the 
war  in  the  next  spring. 

As  we  have  seen,  he  has  been  a  long 
time  reaching  the  Union  army,  and  had 
got  to  it  only  by  a  difficult  and  danger- 
ous route;  but  once  he  became  a  soldier 
among  soldiers,  stirring  adventures  and 
experiences  crowded  thick  and  fast  upon 
him. 

We  must  select  the  most  thVilling  and 
wonderful  ot  them  with  which  to  fill  out 
this  narrative;  but  it  would  be  hardly 
fair  to  him  to  entirely  pass  over  all  that 
he  did  and  saw  with  others  from  the  mid- 
dle of  that  July  down  to  the  19th  day  of 
September. 

We  have  space  only  to  glance  at  these 
things  in  one  brief  chapter;  but  the  small 
mention  that  will  be  made  of  them  will 
be  enough  to  show  the  boys  who  have 
become  interested  in  Burt  and  his  fort- 
unes what  it  was  to  be  a  soldier  in  his 
time. 

The  march  upon  which  the  last  chap- 
ter left  him  ended  at  Snicker's  Ferry,  on 
the  Shenandoah.  The  way  led  through 
the  rocky  walls  of  Snicker's  Gap,  which 
pierces  the  Blue  Ridge  at  this  point.  The 
command  that  our  hero  was  with  stacked 
arms  by  the  river,  and  waited  for  several 
hours.  Across  the  river,  several  miles 
away,  a  battle  was  going  on  between  a 
part  of  the  Eighth  Corps  and  Early's 
army. 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


21 


Burt  and  hie  comrades  heard  the  sound 
of  artillery.  like  the  roll  of  distant  thun- 
der, and  they  saw  some  wounded  men 
brought  across  the  river;  but  they  were 
not  ordered  into  that  fight. 

At  nightfall  they  were  ordered  to  take 
arms  and  fall  in,  and  the  weary  march 
back  to  Washington  was  begun.  It 
lasted  all  night,  and  most  of  the  next 
day,  ar?d  it  gave  Burt  a  rude  introduction 
to  the  dreadful  fatigues  of  soldiering. 

It  was  after  daylight  when  the  column 
passed  the  Wemple  house  again,  and  he 
looked  eagerly  for  a  glimpse  of  Grace, 
bnt  did  not  see  her. 

Old  Snowball  was  by  the  gate,  how- 
ever, watching  for  him;  and  when  he 
saw  him  in  the  column  he  ran  to  him  and 
put  a  pair  of  nice  dressed  chickens  into 
his  hand,  saying: 

"  Young  Missy  tole  me  to  gib  'em  to 
young  Massa  Sojer." 

Burt  and  some  qf  his  comrades  had  a 
feast  that-  night,  after  they  got  in  camp 
across  the  Chain  Bridge  at  Washington; 
but  the  thought  that  pretty  Grace  re- 
membered him  so  kindly  (after  all  that 
had  occurred)  rejoiced  him  far  more  than 
did  the  gift. 

That  "Was  only  one  of  the  many  severe 
marches  that  he  endured  in  those  two 
months. 

Early's  army  was  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley,  his  cavalry  was  threatening  the 
Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad  and  the 
Pennsylvania  border,  and  our  soldiers 
were  moved  fast  and  far  to  counteract 
them. 

They  marched  from  Washington  to 
mountainous  Harper's  Ferry;  from  there 
to  Frederick;  from  Frederick  back  to 
Harpers  Ferry;  and  such  marches!  Night 
and  day  they  had  to  go,  with  only  a  brief 
halt  now  and  then  for  rest;  they  moved 
so  fast  that  they  were  often  without  ra- 
tions; 1  hey  went  with  blistered  feet  over 
■  those  hard  roads;  they  slept  on  the 
ground,  glad  of  a  chance  to  sleep  at  all; 
and  one  day  as  many  as  twenty  in  that 
army  died  of  sunstroke. 

Often,  when  suffering  for  lack  of  sleep, 
Burt  would  march  along  sound  asleep, 
never  waking  till  there  was  a  halt;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  this  strange  fact,  he 
found  that  it  was  quite  common  among 
his  comrades. 

In  those  trying  days  he  often  thought 
of  the  kind  words  and  warning  of  the 
Major  at  the  Boston  Barracks;  and  then 
he  would  grit  his  teeth,  take  a  new  hold 
on  his  heavy  "Springfield,"  and  say  to 
h;  nself:  "Well,  what  of  it?  I  wanted  to 
be  *  real  soldier;  now  I  am  one,  I'm  not* 
going  to  flinch.  I'll  be  a  man,  and  see  it 
out."  And  he  did!  He  was  a  model 
American  soldier-boy. 


There  were  many  thousands  like  him 
on  both  sides  during  the  war;  Burt  Car- 
rier was  an  excellent  type  of  that  kind. 

Early  in  August,  when  he  was  in  camp 
at  Halltown,  over  the  mountain  from 
Harper's  Ferry,  he  saw  enough  going  on 
about  him  to  make  him  sure  that  a  pow- 
erful army  was  being  concentrated  here. 
There  was  the  Sixth  Corps,  the  Eighth, 
and  the  Nineteenth  with  all  their  artil- 
lery; and  there  was  cavalry  enough  to 
make  of  itself  a  small  army.  There  were 
wagons  by  the  acre,  and  so  many  mules 
that  he  thought  they  never  could  be 
counted. 

One  day  he  heard  an  ordertread  on 
parade,  that  a  certain  General  Sheridan 
was  to  command  that  army.  Neither  he 
nor  those  near  him  had  heard  that  name 
before;  but  they  were  to  hear  much  of  it 
in  the  months  following. 

And  now  the  soldiers  were  sure  there 
would  be  a  battle  right  away!  Like  all 
new  soldiers,  Burt  was  anxious  to  see 
one;  but  war  is  a  strange  thing,  and  it 
often  takes  a  great  deal  of  marching  to 
get  two  hostile  armies  where  they  must 
fight. 

The  army  that  our  hero  was  with 
moved  up  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  be- 
tween its  grand  mountain  ranges — and 
then  it  moved  back  again.  It  kept  doing 
this  for  a  month. 

Once  in  awhile  Burt  would  hear  of  a 
skirmish  which  the  cavalry  had  with 
that  of  the  enemy;  but  during  this  time 
he  never  saw  a  soldier  in  a  gray  uniform. 
And  so  regularly  did  this  army  get  back 
to  Harper's  Ferry  each  week,  that  a 
joker  in  the  ranks  said  it  ought  to  be 
called  "Harper's  Weekly." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  why  we  don't  fight?" 
Burt  often  said  to  John  Williams,  his 
particular  friend  and  comrade. 

"  The  fighting  will  come  soon  enough, 
never  you  fear,"  replied  quiet  John. 

"  These  Generals  don't  seem  to  be  in 
any  hurry,  so  far." 

"  I  can  wait,  anyway,"  said  the  vet- 
eran, as  he  smoked  his  pipe.  "  And  do 
you  mind  my  words,  Carrier — after  you've 
been  through  just  one  battle,  you  won't 
be  so  eager  to  see  another.  You'll  take 
'em  as  they  come,  without  pining  after 
them." 

Burt  recalled  those  words  later,  and 
saw  that  they  were  full  of  homely  wis- 
dom. 

But  on  the  18th  of  September,  when 
this  army  was  in  camp  near  Berryville, 
there  was  a  busy  stir  all  through  it. 
Cooked  rations  were  dealt  out  to  the 
men,  and  there  were  orders  to  break 
camp  at  three  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

The  Surgeon  of  the  regiment  was  talk- 
ing with  the  Captain  of  Burt's  company, 


22 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


and  he  was  overhead  to  say  that  there 
would  be  a  battle  next  day,  sure. 

Burt  got  a  caudle,end,  and  sat  up  that 
ni-ht,  writing  a  long  letter  to  his 
mother.  

CHAPTER  XI. 

WHAT    A    BATTLE    IB    LIKE. 

It  seemed  very  early  on  the  next  morn- 
ing that  the  Sergeant-Major  went  round 
and  aroused  the  Captains,  and  the  latter 
sent  the  Orderly-Sergeants  to  wake  up 
the  men.  It  was  so  dark  that  they  could 
onlv  see  each  other  by  the  light  of  the 
fires  that  they  made  to  boil  coffee. 

"Tbif  does  look  like  real  work,"  said 
John  William*,  as  he  sipped  his   hot  cof- 
fee and  munched  a  piece  of  hard  bread. 
'  How  d'ye  feel  now,  Carrier?" 

"  I'm  ready,  John,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  still"  dark  when  the  roll  of  the 
company  was  called,  and  the  Captain 
took  command. 

"By  fours,  right  face file  right 

march!"  was  t.lie  command. 

The  company  filed  out  on  the  road, 
and  took  its  place  in  the  regiment;  the 
regiment  fell  into  the  brigade,  the  bri- 
gade into  the  division — and  soon  the 
strong  column,  which  was  one  of  other 
strong  columns,  was  pressing  along  the 
road  toward  Winchester,  in  the  dark. 

They  marched  till  daylight;  they 
marched  long  after  that.  They  went  at 
top  speed.  The  legs'  of  those  veterans, 
well  used  to  marching,  reached  out  that 
morning  as  though  the  men  knew  there 
was  serious  work  ahead.  And  mo6t  of 
them  did  understand  it,  by  this  time. 

While  it  was  dark,  the  soldiers  said  but 
little  to  each  other.  They  went  on  si- 
lently and  swiftly,  now  and  then  chang- 
ing their  muskets  from  one  shoulder  to 
the  other. 

Sometimes  there  were  exasperating  de- 
lays, which  excited  staff-officers  galloped 
about  to  correct. 

Once  the  column  waited  for  almost  an 
hour  for  a  tardy  train  to  go  to  the  rear. 
It  filled  the  road  from  side  to  side;  the 
staff-officers  threatened,  and  even  swore; 
the  drivers  whacked  their  mules,  and  the 
infantry  rested  idly  by  the  roadside. 

It  was  past  daylight  when  they  were 
marching  again. 

"Hark!"    said  John   Williams.     "Did 
you  hear  thatP 
Burt  heard  it. 
1 '  Boom! — Boom! — Boom!" 
It   was    far    off;  yet    no  soldier  could 
mistake  it.     The  artillery  was  engaged  at 
the  front! 

"I  guess  we're  in  for  it,  to-day,"  said* 
John. 

Soon  after  daylight  they  came  to  a 
creek  flowing  across  the  road. 


"Into  it,  and  across!"  was  the  com- 
mand; and  the  soldiers  dashed  through. 
On  the  other  side  there  was  consider- 
able delay,  caused  by  the  soldiers  remov- 
ing their  shoes  and  wringing  out  their 
socks. 

On  went  the  long  column.  The  boom 
of  the  guns  grew  louder  and  nearer. 
Burt  saw  stragglers  and  skulkers  from 
other  regiments  sitting  by  the  roadside: 
a  sure  sign,  to  the  experienced  soldier, 
that  there  was  a  battle  going  on  in  front. 
Further  on,  men  with  yellow  braid  on 
the  seams  of  their  jackets  stood  holding 
their  horses  by  the  bridles. 

Some  of  these  men  were  wounded; 
blood  was  dropping  from  the  limbs  of 
some  of  them,  and  others  had  their  heads 
tied  up  over  saber-cuts. 

They  were  pale,  but  still  stood  firm, 
waiting  orders;  and  they  talked  with  the 
infantry  as  they  pressed  on.         ' 

"  Nasty  work  in  the  front?"  asked  John 
Williams  of  one  of  them. 

"  You  bet!  They're  pretty  strong.  We 
drove  their  eavalry  back  from  this  road, 
and  then  we  ran  into  their  artillery  and 
infantry.  It's  too  big  a  job  for  us;  you'll 
have  to  take  hold  of  it,  comrades." 

"We're  the  boys  that  can  do  it!"  one 
of  the  infantry  men  shouted;  but  there 
was  generally  silence  in  the  ranks.  On 
the  threshold  of  the  tremendous  and 
terrible  things  that  they  felt  was  before 
them,  the  soldiers  were  silent. 

There  was  a  deep  gorge  through  which 
the  road  passed;  aiong  this  the  columns 
pressed,  passed  beyond  it,  and  filing 
sharply  to  the  left,  struck  across  some 
uneven,  open  fields  toward  a  thick  belt 
of  woods. 

There  was  a  humming  and  disturbance 
in  the  air  overhead — an  explosion— and 
fragments  of  iron  flew  about  and  tore  up 
the  ground.  Shriek! — scream! — hum,  and 
burst!  The  whole  air  seemed  full  of  the 
dreadful  noises. 

"Double-quick!"  came  the  order,  in 
the  ringing  voice  of  the  officer  in  com- 
mand of  the  regiment.  Shells  burst  rap- 
idly overhead,  as  the  men  obeyed  it.  But 
as  yet,  nobody  w.as  hurt. 

"  This  is  lively,"  remarked  John  Will- 
iams to  Burt,  with  a  smile. 
"Yes,"  said  Burt. 

There  was  a  lull  of  a  few  minutes. 
What  was  going  on  in  the  wood  our  sol- 
dier did  not  know.  Very  quickly  his 
brigade  was  formed  into  close  column  by 
division — that  is,  two  companies  in  line 
together,  with  only  the  length  of  one 
company  between  them  and  the  next 
division";  the  bugle  sounded  "Forward!" 
and  they  entered  the  woods. 

What  followed,  Burt  Carrier  thinks  he 
will  never  forget  till  his  dying  day. 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


Almost  as  fast  as  he  could  count,  the 
fuse-shells  shrieked  and  tore  through  the 
woods. 

Great  branches  were  lopped  off,  and 
came  down  with  a  crash  upon  the  heads 
of  the  advancing  lines.  Some  of  the 
shells  struck  the  ground  and  burst  right 
between  the  divisions,  carrying  death 
and  wounds  broadcast. 

The  officers  drew  their  swords  and 
shouted.  "Steady,  men — steady!*' 

One  shell  struck  the  Colonel's  horse, 
killing  him  instantly,  and  sprawling  his 
rider  unhurt  on  the  ground.  Another 
struck  the  man  whose  elbow  touched 
Burt's  on  the  left,  and  exploded,  killing 
and  wounding  half  a  dozen  more. 

Still  these  men  moved  on — right  on! 
It  was  a  Babel  of  noise;  a  very  hell  of 
slaughter;  but  they  marched  right  on. 

As  Burt  glanced  down  the  line,  he  saw 
no  faces  but  white  faces.  His  comrades 
told  him  afterward  that  his  own  face  was 
very  white.  In  those  first  moments  of 
the  great  battle,  he  felt  as  though  he 
would  rather  be  anywhere  else.  But 
he  did  not  flinch;  his  comrades  did  not 
flinch.  They  went  straight  on.  As  they 
got  almost  through  the  wood,  the  sharp 
"zip-zip!"  of  musket-balls  was  thick 
around  them.  Straight  out  in  front  they 
heard  a  mighty  noise  of  yells — something 
that  sounded  like  "Yi! — yi!— yi!" 

They  reached  the  edge  of  the  woods. 
Some  broad  meadow-land,  crossed  by 
rail-fences,  was  next;  beyond  it,  another 
woods,  at  the  end  of  which  the  smcke 
from  thousands  of  muskets  rolled  up  in 
a  long  line;  incessant  flashes  rent  the 
smoke;  battle-flags  with  stars  and  bars 
upon  them  were  waving  over  the  smoke. 

The  fields  between  them  were  dotted 
thickly  with  Union  soldiers,  swarming  to 
the  rear;  another  division  had  just 
charged,  and  been  repulsed. 

The  fierce  battle-yell  continued  to  go 
up;  the  storm  of  musketry-fire  came  thick 
and  hist  I 

Burt  was  not  afraid  now;  his  comrades 
were  not.  Their  blood  was  up;  they 
were  eager  to  fight,  and  return  blow  for 
blow. 

The  loud  voice  of  the  Commander  was 
heard  above  the  roaring  of  shot  and 
shell,  the  hum  of  musketry,  and  the 
yells.  Moving  at  double-quick  by  the 
flank,  the  brigade  got  into  line,  and  with 
an  inspiring  cheer,  dashed  for  a  fence 
well  out  from  the  woods.  They  seized  it, 
they  held  it,  they  rapidly  loaded  and 
fired,  sitting,  lying,  kneeling  en  the 
ground.  The  dry  grass  between  the  hos 
tile  lines  was  set  on  fire  by  the  cartridge 
paper,  and  blazed  up. 

The  Union  soldiers,  loading  and  firing 
at  the  ascending  line  of  smoke  across  the 


fields,  were  searched  out  by  the  deadly 
bullets  coming  their  way.  Men  fell  prone 
on  their  fac^y,  and  never'  stirred  again; 
others  were  hard  hit,  and  hastened  to 
the  rear.  And  there  were  the  shouts  of 
officers— the  cries,  the  cheers,  the  veils 
of  the  fighting  lines,  mingled  with  the 
continued  noise  of  the  firing. 

Burt  had  dropped  to  his  knee,  and 
steadily  loaded  and  fired.  He  was  well 
keyed-up  to  the  work  now;  he  was 
warmed  up  to  the  fight. 

"  This  is  lively,  John,"  he  said. 

"les,"  said  Williams,  as  he  pressed  a 
cap  on  the  nipple  of  his  gun.  "Here 
goes  for  another." 

Burt  did  not  hear  the  report  of  his  rifle, 
and  looked  at  him.  Poor  John  lav  on 
his  back,  a  black  bullet-hole  thj-ough  hie 
forehead. 

So  the  fight  went  on  for  hours.  Both 
lines  stood  stubborn,  fighting,  bleeding, 
dying.  And  this  was  but  a  part  of  the 
great  battle.  To  the  right,  to  the  left,  it 
was  raging  in  the  same  way. 

Although  Burt  was  intent  on  speeding 
bullets  to  the  enemy,  he  noticed  some 
things  that  stand  out  in  his  memory  like 
separate  pictures  of  that  fray. 

One  was  the  comrade  who  made  a  rest 
for  his  musket,  in  firing,  of  the  knapsack 
and  blanket-roll  on  the  back  of  a  dead 
soldier. 

Another  was  the   Sergeant,    who  was' 
mortally  wounded  just  as  he  had  his  rifle 
at  his  shoulder. 

"  Raise  me  up,"  he  cried.  "  I  will  fire 
that  shot!"  And  propped  by  the  arm  of 
a  comrade,  he  fired  his  last  round,  and 
lay  down  to  die! 

Still  another,  was  the  battery  that 
came  tearing  in  at  the  left  of  the  brigade, 
and,  unlimbering,  began  belching  grape- 
shot  at  the  Confederate  line.  Sweeter 
music  than  that,  our  soldier  thought  he 
had  never  heand  in  his  life.  How  the 
brass  guns  roared,  four  a  minute!  How 
the  Captain  of  the  battery  shouted  his 
orders— and  how  the  artillery  boys 
cheered! 

Then  there  was  a  time  when  the  in- 
fantry-soldiers had  exhausted  their  "forty 
rounds,"  and  the  stern  cry,  "  Cartridges! 
cartridges!'  went  up  along  the  line.  The 
brigade  fell  back  to  the  woods;  pine  boxes 
of  fixed  ammunition  were  hurried  up; 
the  excited  soldiers  took  them  and  burst 
them  open  against  the  trunks  of  trees, 
scooped  up  haudfuls  of  them,  and  re- 
turned to  the  fight. 

A  bullet  had  rudely  scraped  Burt's 
cheek,  leaving  a  track  of  blood.  '  The 
wound  healed  with  a  slight  scar  that  he 
bears  to-day. 

But  no  scratch  like  that  could  taka 
Burt  Carrier  out  of  the  fight.     Not  he. 


24 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


indeed!  iret  he  wonders  bow  he  escaped 
so  well;  how  any  who  we^e  so  exposed 
could  escape.  That  night  he  found  the 
sleeves  and  the  skirt  of  his  blouse  cut  in 
three  places  by  bullets. 

About  five  o'clock  there  nras  a  lull  on 
this  part  of  the  field;  the  Confederate 
fire  slackened,  and  soon  entirely  ceased. 
It  appeared  afterward  that  the  enemy 
that  had  fought  here  so  stubbornly  ail 
day  had  been  hurriedly  transferred  to 
the  left,  to  meet  a  flank  attack. 

Not  long  after  that,  Burt  and  his  com- 
rades heard  a  great  noise  over  that  way- 
shouts,  yells,  and  a  long  burst  of  musket- 
sh«»ts.  Then  came  the  order  for  them  to 
advance.  They  went  forward  in  line 
over  the  fields  that  had  lately  been  the 
scene  of  such  desperate  fighting.  The 
fields,  tha  woods  beyond,  the  yard  of  a 
stone  house  opposite,  were  strewn  thick 
with  dead  men,  with  wounded  men,  in 
blue  and  gray.  They  came  in  sight  of 
the  low  range  of  hills  near  Winchester, 
where  the  Confederate  artillery  were 
posted,  and  from  which  shells  were  still 
flying  over  them.  But  the  uproar  off  to 
their  right  grew  louder  and  still  louder; 
far  in'  the  distance  they  saw  disordered 
masses  of  the  enemy  retreating,  and  the 
Union  cavalry  charging  them.  The 
whole  line  advanced  everywhere  on  the 
field,  and  Sheridan's  great  battle  of  Win- 
chester was  won. 

That  day,  five  thousand  Union  soldiers 
and  four  thousand  Confederates  we^e 
killed  and  wounded.-    Such  is  war. 

A  surprise  was  awaiting  Burt  on  that 
bloody  field. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A    DISCOVERT. 

There  was  a  halt  before  the  fields  and 
woods  were  passed,  and  Winchester  was 
in  full  sight.  Everywhere  the  beaten  en- 
emy was  in  full  retreat!,  and  the  haste 
with  which  it  was  pressed  caused  the 
victorious  forces  to  become  somewhat 
broken  up.  It  was  to  allow  the  soldiers 
who  had  become  separated  from  this 
brigade  to  rejoin  it,  that  it  halted  for  a 
few  moments  near  the  stone  house,  spoken 
of  in  the  last  chapter. 

Burt  had  a  good  chance  to  look  about 
him.  and  he  improved  it.  This  place  was 
opposite  the  position  held  by  the  brigade 
all  the  afternoon;  and  Burt  noticed  the 
many  bodies  in  gray  scattered  about  the 
yard,  and  lying  at  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
where  the  Confederate  line  had  been.  It 
appeared  to  him  that  the  fire  of  his  brig- 
ade had  been  quite  as  deadly  as  that  of 
the  enemy. 

He  looked  back  over  the  field  to  the 
edge  of  the  opposite   woods,  where  the 


Union  line  had  held  its  ground,  and 
hundreds  had  fallen,  dead  and  wounded, 
and  he  wondered  again  how  any  could 
escape. 

Let  any  boy-reader'  think  of  an  ordi- 
nary-sized grain-field,  and  two  lines  of 
men  shooting  at  each  other  for  hours 
from  opposite  sides  of  it,  with  guns  that 
will  kill  five  times  that  distance!  Then 
he  will  have  an  idea  of  what  the  part  of 
this  battle  that  Burt  saw,  was  like. 

He  went  about  a  short  distance  among 
the  fallen  bodies.  There  were  many- 
more  dead  than  wounded;  the  reason  for 
this  being,  that  large  numbers  of  wound- 
ed, even  those  badly  hurt,  are  able  to  get 
away  to  the  rear. 

As  he  looked  about  him  at  these  sor- 
rowful sight,  his  eyes  rested  on  a  young 
Confederate  soldier  lying  on  his  side,  very 
quiet  and  still,  though  his  eyes  were  wide 
open,  and  his  face  showed  much  suffer- 
ing. Burt  noticed  that  one  sleeve  of  his 
gray  jacket  was  stained  red,  and  that  the 
string  from  his  canteen  was  tied  tight 
about  one  leg  above  the  knee.  He  was 
a  slender,  boyish-looking  fellow,  with  a 
handsome,  blonde  face,  blue  eyes  and 
light  hair;  but  all  the  color  was  out  of 
his  cheeks  now. 

When  Burt  had  once  seen  that  face,  he 
felt  strangely  attracted  to  it.  Surely,  he 
had  never  met  this  unfortunate  soldier 
before;  yet  he  looked  very  familiar. 
What  could  that  mean? 

He  came  closer  up,  and  spoke  to  the 
Confederate. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?" 

The  soldier  looked  at  him  with  a  sullen 
and  defiant  look;  but  his  face  quickly 
softened  as  he  saw  the  kind  and  sympa- 
thizing expression  of  the  other. 

"  Bad  enough,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  and 
\':hen  added:  "  And  I'm  almost  dead  with 
thirst." 

Burt  had  used  the  water  in  his  own 
canteen  very  sparingly  that  afternoon, 
remembering  that  if  he  should  be  seri- 
ously wounded  himself,  he  would  need 
it.  He  now  quickly  unstrung  it  from  his 
shoulder  and  put  it  to  the  mouth  of  the 
suffering  lad. 

The  latter  drank  long  and  eagerly,  end- 
ing with  .a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Water  is  the 
most  precious  thing  in  the  world  to  one 
in  my  condition." 

Burt  poured  out  some  in  his  hand,  and 
wet  the  other'r  head.  The  big  blue  eyes 
silently  thanked  him. 

"This  is  more  than  I  expected  from  a 
Yankee,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"You'll  find  that  the  Yankees  have 
hearts  as  wellastheSoMthe-ners.  Would- 
n't you  have  done  as  mwcV  'or  me.  if  o**» 
places  were  changed?" 


BURT,  THE  HEKU. 


"I  believe  so;  I  hope  so.  You  fellows 
have  drivenjus,  it  seems." 

"  Yes;  it  looks  as  though  our  side  had 
the  field." 

"It  was  your  cavalry,  and  the  attack 
on  our  left,  that  did  the  business.  We 
could  have  held  out  here  till  night;  but 
our  people  had  to  change  front  to  meet 
that  attack  over  there,  and  it  weakened 
our  line  all  along." 

"You  fought  well,"  said  Burt.  "It  is 
a  dearly  bought  victory,  after  a  hard- 
fought  battle.  But  let  us  talk  about 
yourself.  I  can  stay  but  a  few  minutes; 
tell  me  what  more  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  can  help  me  any 
more.  You  can  tell  me  who  you  are, 
though;  I  want  to  remember  you." 

Burt  told  him.  The  lad  opened  his 
eyes  wide  with  surprise. 

"Maine  soldiers,  you  say?  To  think  of 
you  coming  away  down  here  so  far,  to 
fight  us!  I  belong  to  one  of  the  Virginia 
light" batteries.  We  fired  a  great  many 
rounds  to-day." 

"You  haven't  told  me  where  you  are 
wounded.     I  see  blood  on  your  arm." 

"That's  only  a  scratch;  a  mere  flesh 
wound.     There's  the  worst  business." 

He  looked  at  his  leg. 

"A  musket-ball  struck  it  above  the 
knee.  I  think  the  bone  is  broken;  I 
know  I  can't  stand  up.  I  bound  that 
cord  round  above  it,  and  that  stops  the 
bleeding;  but  I  couldn't  crawl  ten  feet.  I 
suppose  there's  nothing  for  it  but  to  lie 
here  till  some  of  your  parties  look  over  the 
field  to  take  care  of  the  wounded ;  but  that 
may  not  be  till  to-morrow." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  sighed  weai'ily 
at  the  hard  prospect  of  lying  there  all 
night,  in  the  cold  and  dew,  helpless,  and 
with  aching  wounds. 

All  the  horrors  that  Burt  Carrier  had 
seen  on  that  day  had  not  moved  him  as 
did  the  distressful  plight  of  that  wounded 
lad.  He  wanted  to  say  something,  but 
his  heart  swelled  so  that  he  could  not 
utter  a  word. 

"So  you  see  it's  quite  likely  I  may  die 
right  here,"  the  Confederate  went  on. 
"Since  you're  so  kind,  perhaps  there  is 
one  thing  you  can  do  for  me.  Please  take 
that  ring  from  the  little  finger  of  my  left 
hand.  My  dear  sister  gave  it  to  me  when 
I  enlisted.  I'd  like  to  have  it  go  back  to 
her,  in  case  I  should  never  see  her  again. 
If  you  are  saved  in  these  dreadful  battles, 
you  may  go  where  we  live — where  my 
old  home  is — and  give  it  to  her  from  me. 
If  not,  you  can  send  it.     Will  you?" 

Burt  was  so  choked  with  emotion  that 
he  could  hardly  speak. 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  to  get  it  to  her," 
he  made  out  to  say.  "Tell  me  her  name, 
and  where  she  lives." 


"Her  name  is  Grace  Wemple;  mine 
Charles.  Our  home  is  about  three  miles 
beyond  Leesburg." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    FRIEND    IN     NEED. 

In  an  .instant  Burt  was  down  on  his 
knees  by  the  wounded  lad,  and  had  his 
arm  about  his  neck.  His  heart  was  so 
full  that  he  could  not  keep  back  the 
tears;  and  for  my  part,  I  think  they  were 
a  credit  to  him.  It  is  sometimes  manly 
to  cry;  and  Burt  Carrier  certainly  had 
the  best  kind  of  excuse  for  it  at  that 
moment. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "we  two 
must  be  friends,  even  if  war  makes  us 
enemies.  I  know  where  your  home  is 
very  well;  I  was  there  only  last  July;  I 
was  hidden  in  that  house  two  days,  from 
the  pursuit  of  the  Confederates,  from 
whom  I  had  escaped.  Your  sister  is  an  ' 
angel;  she  loves  your  cause  as  well  as  you 
do,  and  if  she  were  a  man  she  would  be 
fighting  for  it;  but  she  is  a  woman  above 
all,  and  she  pitied  me  in  my  distress,  and 
relieved  and  hid  me.  Now  see  what  a 
debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  to  her!  If  I  don't 
repay  some  of  it  to  her  brother,  then  may 
I  never  see  my  own  home  again,  up  in  the 
pine-woods  of  Maine!" 

He  spoke  earnestly;  his  cheeks  flushed 
and  his  eyes  shone.  Charles  Wemple 
smiled  as  he  heard  him. 

"  Why  you  surprise  me!"  he  said. 
"  Did  Grace  do  all  that  for  you?  I'd 
hardly  think  it  of  her,  little  Rebel  that 
she  is;  a  deal  more  one  than  I  am,  I  can 
assure  you.  Yet  I  know  she  is  the  kind- 
est-hearted girl  in  Virginia,  and,  after 
all,  I  can  believe  that  she  acted  just  as 
you  say  she  did." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  two 
clasped  hands  and  looked  straight  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

The  bugle  near  by  sounded — "Atten- 
tion!" 

"  There!"  said  Charles.  "  I  know  what 
that  ineans.  You'll  have  to  leave  me.  Let 
me  have  your  canteen,  if  you  will,  and  do 
you  take  the  ring,  and  do  as  I  said.  God 
bless  you,  Burt" — and  he  smiled  again. 
"  Maybe  I'll  get  through  some  way,  and 
by  and  by,  when  the  war  is  over,  we'll  be 
fast,  friends.  You've  got  to  go  now,  any- 
way." 

"  I  will  never  leave  you  in  this  way," 
was  the  reply.  "Wait — I'll  be  back  in 
three  minutes." 

Burt  hastened  back  to  the  regiment.  It 
was  just  about  moving  on.  The  guns  on 
the  hills  were  silent  now;  some  had 
joined  in  the  retreat;  others  had  been 
taken  by  the  cavalry.     He  went  straight 


2G 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


to   his  Captain,  and   in  a  few  words  told 
him  what  had  occurred. 

i   me  stay  here  awhile,  please/'  he 

begged,  ''and  help  that  poor  fellow.    His 

sister    saved     me     from     Libby    Prison, 

>ugh  she  is  a  Rebel  herself.     I  must  do 

h;il  I  can  for  him." 

The   Captain    was  a  young  man  who 
had  left  Bowdoio  College  to  light  for  the 
..  m.  And    had    become  a  thorough  sol- 
dier.    He  had  become  much  attached  to 
Burt  'Carrier  on   account   of    the    boy's 

lity  to  duty  and   pleasant   ■ 
he  had  observed   his  unflinching  courage 
d  fighting  all  through  tins  Way. 

•"Burt,"  he  said,  kindly,  "I  hardly 
think  I  ought  to  give  you  leave  to  be  ab- 
sent, even  for  a  few  hours,  on  such  an 
errand.     What  would  the  Go&<  uel  say?*1 

"  Hi  "d  say  you  did  just  right,'1  replied 
Burt,  promptly. 

The  Captain  laughed. 

>-Well,  it's  hard  to  say  \Nb,'  outright. 
to  such  a,  soldier  as  you.  But  look  here! 
I  I  a  rn  that  we  are  going;  to  bivouac  over 
there  beyond  the  town  tonight,  and  lake 
a  i  sariy  start  in  the  morning  in  pursuit 
of  the  enemy,  if  you  are  on  hand  the)/,  ' 
it'il  be  all  right.  I'll  have  you  excused 
at  rcl!  call  tonight — and  I  shant  know 
where  you  are." 

Thanking  his  officer,  Burt  hurried  back 
to  his  friend — for  he  could  now  call  him 
nothing  else. 

"  1  can  stay  with  you  till  morning,"  he 
said.  "Now  let's  see  what  can  be  done. 
You  can't  walk  at .all?" 

"  No;  nor  stand. 

"  Perhaps   you   could    help   me  over  DO 
the      stone      house      there."'      Bagge* 
I  ss,     "It's  full  of  oar  wounded." 

"Do  you  think  tnere  is  anv  Surgeon 
theme?" 

"  No.  I  believe  our  Surgeons  are  at 
Winchester.  Lots  of  our  wounded  went 
there  and  were  taken  there  before  the 
retreat  began." 

"  I'm  bound  to  get  you  somewhere  so 
that  your  leg  can  be  attended  to.  Let 
me  think.  There  are  wounded  enougli 
everywhere  to  be  seen  to.  Winchester, 
I  suppose,  is  two  miles  off." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles.     "  About  that." 

"  It'll  be  nearer  back  to  the  field-hospi- 
ta.l,  in  the  rear  of  where  our  lines  were. 
Fm  sure  there  is  one."' 

"As  much  as  a  mile  from  here?" 

"  Yes>>  1  should  say  so.     More." 

"Little   good  will  that  do  me.     How 
!  get  there?" 

"  I  am  going  to  carry  you." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  "Charles,  while  he 
looked  pleased  at  Burt's  ready  offer. 
"You  can't  do  it." 

"  We'll  see  about  that  rau't.  Take 
some    more   water,    first.     Now,    be  per- 


fectly quiet,  and  1*11  try  not  to  hurt  you. 
Put  your  arm  round  my  neck — like  that. 
Here's  an  arm  under  your  shoulders,  and 
another  under  your  "knees;  so — steady- 
there  you  are." 

As  gently  as  a  mother  might  lift  her 
babe  from  the  cradle  did  those  stout  arms 
raise  the  wounded  man;  and  thus  he  was 
borne,  with  a  very  few  rests,  across  the 
tields,  through  the  woods,  and  over  the 
rough  ground  where  the  columns  had  de- 
ployed under  the  fierce  shell-fire  at  the 
opening  of  the  battle,  to  a  stone  mill 
near  the  road,  over  which  the  yellow 
hospital  flag  was  floating. 

Charles  Wemple,  sleuder  and  rather 
delicate  himself,  wondered  at  the  strength, 
so  easily  exerted,  with  which  he  was  car- 
ried back  to  this  place  of  relief.  He  did 
not  learn  till  afterward  how  the  lone  ex- 
perience of  the  young  Maine  soldier  in 
the  pine  forests,  wielding  the  ax  and 
managing  the  rafts,  had  hardened  his  rnus- 
elesand  given  him  a  reserve  of  strength 
that  he  could  put  forth  on  occasion. 

What  Burt  Carrier  and  Charles  Wemple 
saw  and  heard  at  that  field-hospital  may 
not  be  closely  described. 

Those  who  read  these  experiences  must 
understand  that  this  is  the  darkest,  sad- 
dest phase  of  war.  Enough  to  say  that 
half-a-dozen  surgeons  were  busy,"  with 
coats  off,  and  twice  as  many  assistants, 
among  long  rows  of  wounded  men  laid 
out  upon  the  floor;  that  knives  and  saws 
were  busy,  that  there  were  moans  and 
groans,  and  that  the  sickly  smell  of  chlo- 
roform was  all  about  the  place.  It  is 
better  uot  to  linger  over  so  dreadful  a 
picture. 

At  least  two  hours  had  passed  before 
Burt  was  able  to  get  any  attention  paid  his 
friend.  Then  the  latter  was  taken  up 
and  laid  upon  the  table,  and  his  leg  ex- 
amined. 

"Bad  fracture,"  said  the  surgeon,  feel- 
ing of  the  limb,  sponging  off  the  wound, 
and    binding   a   stiff   compress   about   it 
"Bone   much  splintered;    these  pointed      , 
balls  play  the  dickens  with  bones.'" 

"I  won't  have  to  lose  my  leg,  will  If 
asked  Charles. 

"  Hope  not,  my  boy.  We've  got  to 
find  that  bullet,  and  take  out  lots  of 
splintered  bone.  You'll  have  one  short 
leg,  but  I  trust  we  can  save  it  for  you. 
We'll  see." 


It  was  long  past  midnight  in  the  old 
stone  mill.  Charles  Wemple  was  still 
dozing  from  the  unspent  effectsof  chloro- 
form; Burt  sat  by  him,  waiting  for  him 
to  awaken.  He  had  put  some  blankets 
under  him,  and  was  wetting  his  feverish 
lips. 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


27 


With  a  start  Charles  awoke.  He  recog- 
nized his  faithful  friend.  9 

"  Did  they  cut  off  my  leg? ''  he  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Burt.  "They'll  save  it 
for  you.  The  doctor  says  you  must  keep 
quiet,  and  in  a  day  or  two  you'll  be 
taken  over  to  Winchester,  and  well 
cared  for.     Here's  the  bullet." 

He  held  it  up  so  that  Charles  could  see 
it.  A  curious  looking  thing  it  was!  It 
had  been  a  conical  ball;  now  it  was  flat- 
tened out  like  a  saucer. 

"1  wish  (irace  could  come  to  Win- 
chester," said  Charles. 

"Who  knows  but  she  may?  I'll  write 
her  a  note,  telling  her  all  about  it,  and 
I'll  hire  one  of  these  negroes  to  take  it 
over.  I've  got  a  little  money  left  from 
pay-day.  She  may  be  with  you  in  less 
than  a  week." 

The  wounded  man  pressed  his  friend's 
hand  gratefully. 

"She'll  be  sure  to  come,  if  it  reaches 
her,"  he  said.  "  Please  put  that  ball  in 
my  pocket.     I'd  like  to  save  it." 

Burt  did  so. 

"  Keep  ui<  your  spirits,"  he  said.  \  "You 
are  past  the  worst  of  it;  you'll  come  out 
all  right.  It's  hard  to  leave  you;  but  it's 
got  to  be.  I  think  the  Union  army  must 
be  back  to  Winchester  before  long;  then 
I'll  look  you  up." 

Burt  would  have  been  considerably 
surprised  if  any  one  could  have  foretold 
to  him  how  soon,  and  just  how,  he  was  to 
get  Lack  to  Winchester! 

He  wrote  with  his  pencil  on  a  blank 
page  of  his  diary  a  brief  note  to  Grace, 
and  found  a  negro  who  agreed  to  carry  it 
to  the  place  described,  in  consideration 
of  two  greenback  dollars. 

The  part in'>;  with  Charles  that  followed 
was  an  affecting  one  to  both.  Burt  took 
his  musket,  which  he  had  never  relin- 
quished when  carrying  his  friend,  and 
started  for  the  bivouac  of  the  army. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   NIGHT  BEFORE   THE  STORM. 

He  was  with  that  army  on  the  morrow, 
when,  after  hasty  coffee,  and  hard- 
crackers,  it  moved  up  the  valley,  the  long 
columns  of  the  cavalry  and  the  artillery 
taking  the  road,  while  the  infai^try 
marched  in  the  fields.  Twenty-five  thou 
sand  soldiers  could  be  seen  at  a  glance; 
;md  a  brave  show  Burt  thought  it  was, 
in  spite  of  the  slaughter  *<ad  .havoc  of  the 
previous  day.  About  nine  o'clock,  a 
short,  thick-set  man  on  a  h'.eck  horse, 
and  wearing  a  General's  uniform,  rode 
along,  followed  by  many  horsemen;  and 
then  the  soldiers  eheered.  and  Burt 
cheered  with  them.  For  the  n.ian  was 
General  Sheridan. 


It  was  a  month  after  the  events  last  de- 
scribed, that  the  most  stirring  of  Burt 
Carrier's  adventures  occurred. 

Very  much  happened  in  that  month; 
so  much,  that  we  have  no  room  to 
set  it  forth.  We  can  only  glance  at  it, 
as  we  did  at  the  events  of  the  months 
that  came  before  his  first  great  battle. 
We  wish  to  show  where  he«was  on  the 
night  before  these  later  strange  adven- 
tures, and  how  he  had  come  there. 

He  had  seen  more  fighting,  and  a  great 
deal  more  marching.  He  was  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Fisher's  Hill,  three  days  after  that 
of  Winchester,  when  Early's  army  was 
again  defeated,  and  driven  further  up 
the  valley. 

For  days  after  that  he  was  on  the  ad- 
vance line  of  skirmishers,  which  kept  up 
a  running  fight  with  the  enemy's  rear 
guard,  through  Newmarket,  Mount  Jack- 
son, and  beyond.  It  was  exciting  and 
dangerous  work ;  Burt  saw  some  wounded, 
and  a  few  killed.  The  skirmishers  went 
right  on,  taking  shelter  behind  fences, 
trees,  and  rocks,  making  a  mark  of  every 
enemy  they  caught  a  glimpse  of,  and  be- 
coming targets  themselves. 

The  infantry  went  up  to  Harrisonburg, 
a  hundred  miles  from  Harper's  Ferry.  It 
was  too  far  from  the  latter  place,  which 
was  the  base  of  supply,  for  the  army  to 
remain.  Long  trains  of  wagons  had  to 
convey  food  and  ammunition  over  that 
hundred  miles,  and  they  were  often  cap- 
tured by  Mosby's  tireless  guerrillas.  It 
became  necessary  to  fall  back. 

The  new  position  was  three  miles  north  * 
of  Strasburg.  The  soldiers  now  had  lit- 
tle "shelter-tents,"  made  of  three  pieces 
of  canvas,  which  they  could  carry  with 
their  blankets;  and  the  great  camp  made 
a  city  of  these  little  white  houses. 

The  grand  mountain-wall  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  was  close  at  hand,  with  the  silver 
Shenandoah  winding  round  it.  From 
this  chain  over  to  the  North  Mountains 
extended  the  great,  high  rampart  tjf 
Fisher's  Hill,  just  beyond  Strasburg. 
"The  enemy  lay  somewhere  up  the  val- 
ley, and  there  had  been  a  few  skirmishes 
since  the  Union  army  bad  come  to  this 
camp.  But  the  front  was  picketed,  the 
cavalry  was  well  advanced,  and  every- 
body felt  secure.  Nobody  thought  that 
the  enemy  that  had  been  whipped  so  bad- 
ly twice  and  driven  up  the  valley,  could 
make  any  serious  demonstration  so  soon. 

General  Sheridan  had  been  called  to 
Washington  two  days  before. 

It  was  the  evening  of  October  18th;  a 
mild,  pleasant  evening,  and  many  of 
Burt's  regiment  were  sitting  on  the 
ground  together,  chatting  and  talking 
of  what  they  had  lately  seen  and  done. 

"Looks  to  me  as  if  the  war  was  pretty 


28 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


much  over,  here  in  the  valley,"  said  one. 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  said  another.  "  There 
ain't  much  left  here  to  fight  with." 

"Wonder  where  we'll  be  this  winter?" 
suggested  a  third. 

"  Oh,  the  war'll  be  over  everywhere  be- 
fore that.  We'U  be  back  in  the  lumber 
country — what  there  is  left  of  us— and 
you,  Simmons,  will  be  lying  about  what 
you  did  down  here,  and  wanting  the  rest 
of  us  to  swear  to  it." 

"Well,  Perkins,  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  lie— for  you've  never  fought  any." 

With  such  harmless  jokesas  these  they 
amused  themselves.  Then  one  cf  the 
comrades  brought  out  a  fiddle  and  began 
to  play  a  lively  tune;  a  negro  was  cap- 
tured and  brought  into  the  ring,  and  was 
soon  dancing  grotesquely,  while  the  sol- 
diers laughed  and  applauded. 

The  headquarters  of  the  army  were 
near  by,  and  the  brass  band  there  began 
to  play.  Such  sweet  music  they  made, 
with  "Listen  to  the  Mocking  Bird," 
"Twinkling  Stars,"  and  "Annie  Laurie," 
that  thousands  of  soldiers  listened  in 
silence. 

Last,  they  played  "Sweet  Home."  Ah, 
how  that  familiar  air  touched  the  hearts 
of  these  men,  inured  to  battle  and  dan- 
ger as  they  were! 

The  fifes  and  drums  sounded  "Tattoo," 
the  hum  and  stir  of  company  roll-call  was 
everywhere  heard. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  came  "Taps" — 
the  call  for  "lights  out." 

Burt  Carrier  crawled  into  his  little 
shelter,  rolled  his  overcoat  up  into  a 
pillow,  took  his  musket  under  his  blan- 
ket with  him  to  keep  it  from  rust,  and 
went  to  sleep.  The  strains  of  "  Sweet 
Home"  haunted  his  dreams;  he  thought 
he  was  at  home  with  his  mother,  and 
Jerry,  and  the  children.  And  if  anybody 
had  been  there  to  see,  and  if  it  had  been 
light  enough  to  see,  a  smile  might  have 
been  discovered  on  his  face;  for  he 
dreamed  of  Grace  Wemple. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CAPTURED     AGAIN! 

The  slumbers  of  our  young  soldier  were 
rudely  broken  by  a  sound  of  rapid  firing, 
far  off.  He  sat  up  and  listened.  Next 
came  a  volley;  then  the  noise  of  yells. 
They  came  from  a  distance;  but  they 
were  in  the  familiar  "  Yi!  yi!  yi!  "  that  he 
had  heard  at  Winchester. 

To  put  on  his  shoes,  buckle  on  his  belt, 
roll  up  his  blankets  and  hang  them  in  a 
loop  over  his  shoulder,  and  put  on  his 
overcoat  was  the  work  of  a  minute.  He 
seized  his  musket  and  rushed  out,  just  as 
the  alarm  of  the  "long-roll"  began  to 
sound  through  the  camps. 


rHe  found  the  whole  scene  covered  by  a 
fog,  in  whidh  a  man  could  hardly  be  seen 
a  hundred  feet  off.  The  regiment  was 
promptly  in  line;  the  command  was 
given  to  "order  arms,"  and  the  men 
stood  at  rest. 

The  noise  seemed  to  come  from  away 
off  at  the  left.  The  rattle  of  musketry 
broke  out  again;  there  were  yells,  and  it 
was  noticed  that  bullets  began  to  come 
into  the  camp. 

And  then  there  was  a  sorrowful  sight! 
Soldiers  in  blue,  singly,  by  twos  and 
threes,  their  arms  thrown  away,  broke 
out  of  the  fog  and  rushed  in  panic  to  the 
rear.  They  would  not  stop  nor  answer 
questions;  they  were  thoroughly  demor- 
alized. 

A  staff-officer  rode  up  and  gave  a  hasty 
order  to  the  Colonel.  The  regiment  was 
faced  by  the  left,  moved  a  little  way  out 
of  its  camp,  and  brought  into  line  again, 
facing  the  directioh  of  the  noise,  from 
which  a  steady  stream  of  Union  soldiers 
was  now  drifting  to  the  rear. 

The  fog  hung  thick  and  low.  Here 
and  there  it  was  rent  by  flashes,  showing 
that  other  regiments  were  at  work. 

"Fire  by  file! — Commence  firing!"  the 
Colonel  shouted. 

The  musket-shots  came  thick  and  fast 
from  the  ranks.  The  men  could  see  noth- 
ing, save  the  flying  soldiers  going  contin- 
ually to  the  rear;  they  could  only  fire 
into  the  fog  in  the  direction  of  the  yell- 
ing and  the  volleys. 

The  yells  drew  nearer  and  louder.  The 
regiment  was  attacked  from  front,  left 
and  rear.  Out  of  that  dreadful  fog  the 
deadly  bullets  hissed,  striking  down  men 
in  the  ranks,  dead  and  wounded. 

"  This  is  dreadful!"  Burt  heard  his  Cap- 
tain say.  "If  we  could  only  see!  But 
stick  to  them,  boys;  don't  flinch!" 

Burt  never  knew  how  long  this  hope- 
less fight  went  on.  He  loaded  and  fired  as 
fast  as  he  could;  he  knew  that  his  com- 
rades were  falling  fast,  and  that  bullets 
were  singing  though  the  air  all  about 
him;  but  he  was  hot  with  the  fight,  and 
thought  of  nothing  else.  The  order  was 
given  to  retreat;  he  never  heard  it,  and 
still  stood  there  among  the  dead  and 
the  dying,  loading  and  firing  with  all 
speed. 

In  three  minutes  he  discovered  that  he 
was  fighting  alone.  He  took  a  farewell 
shot  into  the  fog,  and  started  for  the 
rear.  The  fog  was  lightening  a  little.  In 
a  coufused  way  he  could  see  bodies  of 
troops  moving  through  it,  and  flashes 
everywhere. 

He  had   not  gone  ten  yards  when  he 
found  his  way  barred  by  three  men  in 
butternut-colored     clothes.      They    had 
I  come  up  from  the  left. 


\*= 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


29 


He  ran  right  upon  them.  Instantly 
their  musKets  covered  him. 

"Surrender,     Yank!"    one     of     them 
shouted. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
"  Yes,"  he  said.     "I  surrender." 
His  gun  was  taken  from  him,  as  well  as 
bis  blankets  and  overcoat,  and  one   of 
them   marched  him  off   in  the  direction 
where  the  attack  came  from. 

"We've  got  your  'Little  Phil,'  and 
your  '  Yellow-beaded  Custer,1  and  all  the 
rest  of  you,  I  r6£kon,"  said  his  guard. 

Burt  thought  t  would  be  wiser  for  him 
to  say  nothing. 

They  passed  Wge  masses  of  Confeder- 
ate infantry,  pressing  on  after  the  disor- 
ganized and  retreating  Union  forces. 
They  fell  in  with  hundreds  of  prisoners  in 
blue  uniforms,  under  guard,  going  the^ 
same  was  as  they  went.  There  were  pri- 
vates, corporals,  sergeants,  Lieutenants, 
Captains,  Majors — even  a  few  Colonels. 
There  had  been  a  great  surprise,  a  strug- 
gle, a  rout  and  retreat,  and  twelve  hun- 
dred prisoners  had  been  secured. 

They  reached  the  "pike,"  the  wide 
stone  road  that  runs  through  the  val- 
ley. 

"Hyar  comes  the  artillery!"  cried  the 
Confederate  soldier,  with  glee. 

Three  large  guns  drawn  by  stout  horses 
came  thundering  down  the  road  from 
Strasburg.  They  were  quickly  put  in 
position,  and  began  throwing  round-shot 
over  the  heads  of  the  Confederates  at  the 
retreating  lines. 

Burt's  guard  urged  him  on,  threaten- 
ing him  with  his  bayonet;  but  an  occa- 
sional glance  back  over  his  shoulder 
showed  him  the  fields  as  far  as  he  could 
see  covered  with  stragglers  and  fugitives, 
Avl.ile  there  were  still  lines  here  and  there 
trying  to  hold  the  enemy  back. 

The  prisoner  was  taken  more  than 
three  miles,  to  a  place  beyond  Strasburg. 
Many  were  there  before  him,  and  during 
the  forenoon  more  continued  to  come  in, 
until  more  than  a  regiment  of  them  were 
assembled.  They  were  closely  guarded 
by  horsemen  as  well  as  foot-soldiei's,  and 
were  kept  well  together. 

Until. the  middle  of  the  afternoon  they 
.were  kept  there.  The  noise  of  battle  had 
drifted  away  far  to  the  north,  and  all  the 
appearances,  as  well  as  the  exulting  talk 
or  the  guard,  wet*  of  a  great  Union  dis- 
aster. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  that  the 
noise  of  battle  broke  out  afresh.  Rapidly 
it  drew  nearer.  Although  the  anxious 
and  heavy-hearted  prisoners  did  not 
know  it  then,  General  Sheridan  had  come 
up,  the  stragglers  were  returning,  and  an- 
other battle  was  begun! 
They  got  a  glimpse  of  the  truth  >vht>n  a 


staff-officer  dashed  up  and  shouted  to  the 
officer  in  command  of  the  guard: 

"Colonel,  General  Early  orders  that 
you  march  these  prisoners  to  Staunton 
as  rapidly  as  possible.  Keep  them  going 
all  night;  crowd  them!  Get  them  so  far 
that  there'll  be  in  no  danger  of  recap- 
ture." 

Burt  knew  then  that  the  tide  had 
turned,  and  that  victory  was  to  be  with 
his  comrades. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

BLOOD    THICKER    THAN    WATER. 

"Step  out  lively,  now,"  ordered  the 
Colonel,  as  he  rode  around  the  column, 
and  urged  it  to  greater  speed.  "Keep 
moving;  hurry  'em  up  there,  guards! 
Keep  your  eyes  on  the  Yanks,  and  shoot 
any  man  that  tries  to  leave  the  road." 

With  sinking  hearts  did  the  prisoners 
start  on  their  weary  journey.  Most  of 
them  knew  that  they  must  march  far  up 
the  valley  before  they  should  cross  the 
mountains  to  Charlotteville,  from  which 
place  they  could  be  taken  by  railroad  to 
Richmond.  They  saw  before  them  a  long 
and  dreary  imprisonment  in  the  Libby, 
and  they  abandoned  themselves  to  their 
fate. 

No — not  all.  At  least  one  there  never 
lost  hope  of  freedom;  an  undaunted  sol- 
dier-boy— Burt  Carrier! 

He  had  been  in  as  dark  situations  as 
this  before,  when  his  own  courage  and 
clevernejss  helped  him  to  extricate  him- 
self. He  had  gained  large  experience 
since  then,  and  had  learned  more  and 
more  to  rely  upon  himself.  He  started 
upon  that  march  with  the  determination 
that  he  would  not  go  to  Richmond,  even 
if  he  had  to  put  his  life  in  peril  to  avoid 
it. 

He  thought  of  t  home,  of  his  mother — 
and  then  he  th'ought  of  Grace.  The 
thoughts  strengthened  him  for  the  at- 
tempt. 

But  it  seemed  hopeless,  at  the  startl 
The  foot-guards  with  loaded  muskets, 
and  bayonets,  and  the  mounted  men  with 
sabers  and  revolvers,  surrounded  the 
column,  urging  it  to  a  faster  pace,  and 
with  repeated  threats  of  instant  death  to 
any  straggler. 

They  reached  the  table-lands  on  top  of 
Fisher's  Hill  by  the  winding  road.  It 
was  not  yet  dark,  and  far  off,  over  the 
plains  and  fields  below,  they  could  see 
the  fires  and  smoke  of  the  new  battle, 
from  whieh  the  sound  of  firing  still  came 
nearer. 

On,  on,  they  were  marched  through 
the  night.  It  came  on  cold  and  dark; 
only  a  star  in  the  sky  here  and  there 
lighted  the  lonely  way. 


30 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 

• 


"  Guards,  keep  close  to  the  prisoners!" 
the  Colonel  shouted.  '"Don't  let  a  man 
escape.  Lieutenant  Ellison — where  is 
Lieutenant  Ellison?" 

"  Here,  sir!" 

Burt's  place  was  at  the  outside  of  one 
of  the  files  on  the  west  side  of  the  road. 
The  voice  that  answered  came  from  a 
man  so  near  him  that  lie  could  have 
reached  out  his  hand  and  Touched  him. 

•'  I     it  all  right,  there,  Lieutenant?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Lieutenant  Ellison!  Burt  heard  that 
name,  and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden 
bound. 

He  could  see  the  man's  face,  but  could 
not  distinguish  the  features.  Yet,  as  he 
looked,  something  in  The  walk  and  car- 
riage of  the  officer  was  familiar. 

"Lieutenant,"  he  said  softly,  "1  want  to 
speak  with  you." 

The  officer  came  close  to  him. 

"What  is  it,  Yank?"  he  asked,  rather 
harshly. 

"Sh! — Speak  in  a  whisper.  How  are 
Aunt  Ellen — and  Uncle — and  how  are 
you,  yourself,  Jack  Ellison?" 

The  astonished  officer  put  his  face  close 
to  Burt's. 

"  Why — why,  who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"Only  your  cousin  Burt.  I  suppose 
you  haven't  forgotten  the  visit  you  made 
us  in  '60,  with  your  folks,  and  The  fun  we 
boys  had  in  the  woods  and  on  the  rafts." 

His  hand  was  grasped  and  tightly 
pres 

"Burt  Carrier — cousin  Burt — you  here? 
Good  heavens,  what  a  meeting!" 

They  spoke  in  whispers;  for  another 
minute  nothing  was  said.  Our  soldier 
perceived  that  the  shock  of  the  discovery 
to  his  cousin  was  great,  and  he  waited 
fojr  lii in  to  recover  from  it. 

John  Ellison  stilkheld  his  cousin  by 
the  hand  as  he  strode  along.  He  thought 
of  his  own  Georgia  home,  broken  up  by 
the  cruel  war,  and  he  thought  of  the 
home  up  in  Maine  that  he  had  visited 
four  years  before — of  his  boyish  sports 
and  friendship  with  him  whom  he 
was  now  .taking  to  prison — and  he  be- 
came as  Tender  'and.  merciful  as  a  man 
could  be. 

He  heard  the  tramp  of  the  column 
along  the  road,  and  the  voices  of  the 
guards,  in  commands  and  oaths,  with 
sometimes  a  blow.  He  was  thinking 
fast. 

"  I'll  try  to  help  you,  Burt?"  lie  said. 

"Its  now  or  never,  Jack!  We  go  so 
fast  that  in  three  hours  1  shall  be  beyond 
all  hope.  It's  almost  dark;  let  me  try  it 
right  here." 

"All  right,  okj  fellow.  Take  to  the 
woods,  if  you  get  away — and  God  be  with 
you!" 


He  wrung  the  hand  he  had-held  hard. 

"  Step  a  little  outside— so!  Now, -when 
I  begin  to  make  a  fuss,  and  scold  these 
fellows,  do  you  make  a  dive  for  the  side 
of  the  road,  and  lie  flat  in  the  grass  till 
we're  all  out  of  sight.  One  rod  will  be 
enough.  It's  desperate;  the  next  guard 
on  this  flank  may  see  you,  and — and — " 

"I'll  take  the  risk,  Jack." 

"Well,  then — now!'1'' 

Burt  made  one  bound  to  the  roadside, 
and  sank  low  in  the  grass.  All  that  fol- 
lowed he  heard  distinctly,  with  fast- 
beating  hjeart. 

"Ho,  there,  Lieutenant  Ellison!  I 
Thought  I  saw  a  man  dodge'  past  you 
there." 

"Nothing  but  a  shadow,  Jackson;  I 
saw  it.  But  look  here! — these  men  are 
too  far  apart;  you  don't  keep  them 
enough  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Con- 
found you,  Jackson,  you'd  do  betTer  if 
you  paid  more  attention  to  the  prisoners, 
and  less  to  what's  outside." 

"I'm  doing  the  best  I  can,  sir,"  the 
soldier  sulkily  replied. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  asked  amounted 
officer,  riding  up. 

"I  was  merely  keeping  things  straight 
here." 

•  "All  right.  Lieutenant.     Watch   these 
fellows  well." 

The  escape  had  been  noticed  by  two 
or  three  of  the  prisoners  near  by,  But 
never  once  during  the  whole  war  did  men 
in  that  situation  betray  a  comrade;  and 
these  men  did  not  then. 

Burt  Carrier  lay  quietly  in  the  grass. 
The  wretched  column  toiled  and  struggled 
by;  farther  and  farther  he  heard  the 
id  of  feet  and  the  voices  recedhitr. 
Soon  all  was  still  again.  He.  raised  his 
head;  he  sat  up.  He  was  not  yet  out  of 
danger;  but  he  was  free  again — God  be 
praised,  he  was  free! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

.     NEAR     TO     DEATH. 

Burt  hastened  into  the  patch  of  woods 
that  was  next  the  road  at  this  point. 
Therft,  safe  from  discovery  for  the  pres- 
ent, he  sat  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen 
tree,  and  reflected  as  to  what  his  course 
should  be. 

To  take  the  turnpike*  back  to  Stras- 
burg,  and  so  on  to  the  lines  of  the  Union 
army,  was  out  of  the  question.  Because 
if  the  tide  bad  really  turned,  and  there 
was  a.  great  Union  victory,  as  he  had  the 
best  of  reasons  to  believe,  he  knew  that 
the  roads  would  soon  be  filled  with  re- 
treating Confederates.  He  supposed  that 
it  had  been  only  by  the  mosrt  rapid 
marching  that  the  prisonerg   and  guard 


BURT,  THE  HERO. 


22 


had  kept  in  advance  of  the  drift  and 
wreck  of  the  beaten  army;  and  this  was 
the  fact. 

He  looked  up  through,  the  tree-tops  to 
the  skies.  They  were  cloudy;  bur  he 
could  make  out  some  of  the  stars  of  the 
Dipper,  and  could  now  and  then  catch  the 
twinkle  of  the  North  Star.  So,  he  was  in 
no  danger  of  losing  his  way. 

The  coulee  that  he  had  resolved  upon 
was  to  strike  straight  west  for  at  lea.-.t 
two  miles,  then  descend  to  the  Hack 
Road,  and  take  his  chances  of  getting 
around  on  a  wide  circuit  to  his  friends. 
He  thought  in  this  way  he  shook]  run 
tli"  least- risk  of  falling  in  with  enemies. 

It  was  perhaps  as  good  a  plan  as  any 
poor,  distressed  fugitive  could  have 
made.  If  it  failed,  Hurt  Carrier  was  not 
at  fault  in  the  planning. 

His  course  once  decided  upon,  he  lost 
not  a  moment  in  putting  it  in  execution. 
He  rose  and  went  west  through  the 
woods. 

The  air  was  cold;  a  thick  bleak  frost 
covered  everything  next  morning.  Over- 
coat and  blankets  had  been  taken  from 
hilli,  as  we  have  seen;  but  in  the  first 
glow  of  hope,  and  in  rapid  walking,  he 
(lid  not  at  first  feel  the  bitter  air. 

The  woods  became  thinner  as  he  pro- 
ceeded. He  had  almost  passed  them, 
when  he  ran  right  upon  three  men.-  They 
were  gathering  and  breaking  up  sticks 
tor  a  fire. 

He  could  only  see  their  forms,  not  their 
faces;  but  he  knew  that  they  must  be 
fugitives  from  Early's  army.  None  others 
con  It1,  be  in  such  a  place  at  such  a  time. 

He  tried  to  withdraw  silently;  hut  he 
had   alr<  a    perceived.     The  men 

sprang  to  their  feet,  and  one  of  them 
abruptly  asked: 

"Ho,  "there!     Who's  you'uns?'' 

Burt  had  learned  to  think  quickly,  it 
passed  through  his  mind  instantly  that, 
as  he  could  not  in  the  obscurity  of  the 
wood  \  see  what  uniform  they  wore, 
neither  could  they  see  bis. 

"Wickbaua's  Brigade,"  he  boldly  an- 
swered, remembering  that  he  had  heard 
of  such  an  organization  in  Early's  army. 

"Licked,  with  all  of  weiins,  be  you?" 
one  of  them  asked. 

"Why,  of  course.  What  are  you  do- 
ing?'1 

"  GittiB1   up  a  fire   to   warm  at.     Got, 
anything  to  eat?" 

"No.     Have  you?" 

"Some  pork  and  hard-tack  we  fcook 
from  a  dead  Yank's  bag." 


The  men  did  not  offer  to  share  with 
him,  and  Burt  in  his  own  mind  fully  for- 
gave their  iuhospitahcy. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  he  said.  "I  know  a 
man  over  here,  where  I  can  get  some- 
thing." 

They  grunted  an  indifferent'  farewell, 
and  he  left  them  without  hindrance.  He 
breathed  much  freer  after  he  had  put  a 
mile  between  him  and  them! 

The  hours  were  long,  before  daylight, 
and  his  sufferings  from  cold  and  fatigue 
were  sore.  He  remembers  those  hours 
now  as  the  most  painful  of  his  life.  A 
new  calamity  now  o  .'ertook  him.  Just 
before  dawn,  when- the  darkness  was  the 
greatest,  his  foot  slipped  under  the  ex- 
posed root  of  a  tree.  In. pulling  it  out, 
he  gave  the  ankle  a.  severe  wrench.  It 
began  to  pain  him,  and  he  found  that  he 
could  not  step  (irmly  upon  it.  There  was 
no  break  nor  sprain;  but  the  ankle  was 
weakened  by  the  strain  of  the  cords. 

He  sat  down,  woary,  weak,  almost  de- 
sponding. His  situation  had  been  des- 
perate enough  before;  but  with  this  crip- 
limb,  how  could  he  ever'escape? 

The  longer  he  sat,  his  back  propped  up 
against  a  great  tree-trunk,  the  less  he 
felt  like  moving.  aid  exposure 

to  the  cold  had  partially  stupefied  him; 
he  lapsed  away  into  a  drowse,  in  which, 
for  a  few  moment.-?,  he  forgot  his  hapless 
condition,  and  thought  of  his  mother, 
and  Jerry, 'the  children,  and  home,  and 
Grace  Wemple  and  her  brother. 

Daylight  found  him  there,  and  with  the 
early  morn  ha  made  his  way,  lame  and 
sore,  into  the  Union  lines. 


Not  many  more  words  will  be  needed 
to  finish  our  story.  Burt  Carrier  had  to 
be  taken  to  the  hospital.  His  fatigues 
ami  exposures  had  brought  on  a  f>ver, 
which  kept  him  to  his  bed  lor  a  month. 

Charles  Wemple  occupied  a  cot  next  to 
him  and  was  able  to  sit  up,  now,  and 
wh  n  Plucky  Burt  was  overthe  delirium 
of  fever,  their  meeting  was  a  happy  one. 
His  sister  Grace  had  been  nursing  him 
for  three  weeks,  and  the  meeting  between 
the  two  was  a  pleasure.  Six  months  later 
Burt  was  made  a  Lieutenant,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  war  Grace  and  he  were  mar- 
ried, and  they  went  to  live  in  his  New 
England  home,  where  to-day  he  is  a  pros- 
perous man,  and  has  his  latch-string  al- 
ways hung  out  and  his  purse  open  for  all 
old  soldiers  who  have  not  been  as  pros- 
perous as  he. 


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....  SSARLE  LYNDON,  THE  SHADOW ;  or,  Trailing  the  King  of  the  Smugglers.    By  Bmu 

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.   , .  THE  SILENT  AVENGER  ;  or,  The  Fate  of  the  Crooked  Nine.     By  M.  T.  Hand. 
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....  BURT,  THE  HERO  ;  or.  Adventures  of  a  Plucky  Boy.    By  James  Franklin  Flf«. 
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Brocade. 
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